


The Altus Inquisitor

by YamiSnuffles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Eventual Romance, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 53,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/pseuds/YamiSnuffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if some of the Trevelyans had remained in Tevinter when the others settled to the south in Ostwick? Lucien Trevelyan, eldest child and heir to the family name, is tasked with infiltrating the Conclave under the guise of one of his distant southern relations. It was supposed to be a brief, observational trip. No one could have guessed he would end up the Herald of Andraste. What's an Inquisition to do when they discover their Herald is a Tevinter spy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, this fic has been abandoned for the time being. I really do hope to get back to it at some point and I have all the remaining chapters outlined, but consider this a warning that it may never be finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a few changes to account for timeline discrepancies brought about by the World of Thedas: Volume 2.

**Prologue: In the Calm Minrathous Night**

* * *

 

The night was utterly still, without so much as a breath of wind to stir the comfortably humid air. It felt less like a good omen and more like the calm before a long brewing storm. A wise man would read the signs and stay away but few in Tevinter could rightfully claim wisdom. As much as he might hope otherwise, Lucien Trevelyan was no exception.

He walked the grounds of his family’s estate with thought of little beyond the fit of his newly tailored clothes. Silk canopies created shadowed stripes across the moonlight drenched pathway. To one side, an artificial stream meandered lazily within the harsh, straight confines of a granite channel. The atmosphere around it was dizzying from the thriving population of blood lotus within. Lucien tarried nearby until his head felt light from the fragrance of the deep red blossoms. The fantastical shapes of the fiercely manicured hedges seemed to twist into more sinister forms around him as he walked.

Lucien quickly changed course in search of clearer air. He stopped before the expansive reflecting pool which in the daylight made his palatial home seem twice as large. At night, the building was little more than a dark smear against the shining heavens above. Even the lights in the windows seemed like just so many more stars. He bowed to his own image, trapped in the water amongst those glistening lights.

“Lucien Trevelyan of Ostwick.”

He tested the greeting in his mouth experimentally, only to grimace at the image cast back at him. His heavy fur lined coat had been discreetly ordered from a merchant in the Free Marches. It was, he’d been assured, the fashion for the season among Marcher nobility and appropriate for someone who wished to appear blandly pious, so he was sure it was an otherwise suitable disguise. What he was far less sure of was whether it was in any way convincing once it was on him.

Perhaps it was just that Minrathous was a proper temperature, unlike the ghastly, frigid south. It was hard to look comfortable in clothes that made him sweat and which brought his hand up to his collar every other minute in a desperate attempt to get a bit of air. However, he was fairly certain that weather wasn’t the only thing working against him. No matter how he slouched or scowled, he couldn’t quite find a mindset that said ‘mundane backwater noble’ in any convincing manner.

He adopted a grave expression and glowered down at his reflection. “Yes, I quite agree. Those Tevinters are a wicked, wicked people, the whole lot of them.”

Peeling laughter sent fire through Lucien’s cheeks as he suddenly realized he wasn’t quite so alone as he’d thought. He turned to face the interloper and a bright smile lit up his features as embarrassment was banished by unexpected pleasure. Dorian glided along the hedge lined lane. A smile graced his face as well, though a devious twist pulled up the corners.

“Please,” he said with a flippant wave of his hand. “You wouldn’t know wicked if it bit you in the ass.”

Lucien waggled his eyebrows. “Care to test that theory?”

Dorian snorted and laughter bubbled once more through the still night air. “Clearly I’ve been gone too long. Though I certainly didn’t think you’d resort to talking to yourself for lack of my brilliant company.”

“Desperate times, and all that.” Lucien chuckled, though concern prickled at the back of his mind. Dorian preferred to keep painful matters private but now that he’d brought the topic up, Lucien couldn’t help but wonder at the absence. He rubbed at the back of his neck and looked sidelong at Dorian. “Speaking of, are you alright? First you fell off the map after the news about Felix came in. Then the mess with your family. What happened there anyway? You never told.”

“You know how it is,” Dorian sighed. “At any rate, it seems everyone is looking for me these days. Naturally, instead of going to them, I came here instead. But enough about me.”

A complete non answer on both counts but Lucien was too happy to see Dorian to pry further and risk chasing him off. He decided to play along. “Enough about you? Those are words I never thought to hear.”

 

“It wouldn’t do for me to start doing the expected. Truly, though, it’s been too long. How are you and Aurelia?”

“Ah. We’re… she’s gone.”

“So off again. A pity. I know you cared for her.”

“I did. I do but I ended it once and for all. It’s for the best. We were just going in circles,” Lucien replied. He swallowed over the uncomfortable lump that formed in his throat at the memory. “She deserves someone who isn’t just settling and I finally accepted that was the best I could promise her.”

He forced a light tone and offered a quick prayer to thank the Maker when his voice didn’t fail him. Desperate to look anywhere other than Dorian’s face, he used his ridiculous new coat as a pretense to turn his eyes down. He frowned at his reflection and tugged uncomfortably at the collar. It worked well as a diversion. Dorian’s eyes raked over Lucien before settling on the fur trim which he picked at with idle disdain.

“Truly you are the rarest breed in Tevinter- a romantic,” he drawled. He crinkled his nose when his fingers came away with a dusting of stray fur. He wiped his hand on Lucien’s arm. “I can’t imagine your parents are pleased. Is that what you’re doing in the gardens in the middle of the night, garbed in fur of all things? Is this some sort of cruel punishment?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way but now that you mention it, it seems like a distinct possibility.” Lucien lowered his voice. It was likely a needless precaution but if his homeland fostered anything, it was a healthy sense of paranoia. This wasn’t something he was supposed to be talking about. However, Dorian wasn’t just anyone. Lucien wanted him to know. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Conclave that will be held in the south?”

“Indeed. It’s been quite the gossip fodder. It seems like everyone in the Magisterium is eager to find a way to work it to Tevinter’s advantage. But then, scheming is the national pastime.” Dorian shrugged and yawned. Then the truth of the matter dawned on him and he narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “Is that what this is about? You haven’t gotten yourself mixed up in all that, have you?”

Lucien sighed. “Mother sees an opportunity. With all the Trevelyans who settled in Ostwick ages ago, she thinks she has an advantage over the other Magisters. I will attend the Conclave, ostensibly as a Marcher noble, and observe the proceedings. Apparently, should anyone inquire further, my distant relations are anxious enough to hide their ancestry and ties to Tevinter that they would never risk exposing me.”

Dorian’s head cocked and his eyes narrowed further still. Brows knit, he asked, “You’re not really going to go along with all this?”

“I am, actually. My family have for the most part kept me out of the usual politicking and games. They’ve given me a lot of space and let me live as I see fit. Maybe this is just a way to get the problem child out of their hair but if this is all they ask, I’m happy to do it. I’ll be leaving for the Free Marches tomorrow. Then, after a brief stay in Ostwick, it’s off to Ferelden and the so-called Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“If that’s all, he says.  _Festis bei umo canavarum_.” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose and started to pace. “Yes, I’m sure this is all perfectly harmless. Even ignoring what might be done with any information you bring back, have you even considered how horribly wrong this could all go? What do you think they’ll do if they discover a Tevinter spy at their precious Conclave? And tomorrow? If I hadn’t dropped by, you were going vanish just like that? Just… poof!”

Lucien’s lips thinned into a hard, angry line as frustration simmered. “Just like you did, you mean? I did try to contact you earlier. And, yes, I did actually consider all that. Although I can’t guess what it all matters to you.”

Dorian froze in his tracks. Stormy grey eyes danced across Lucien’s face and settled on his own hazel eyes. Dorian’s face, so often an open book despite his attempts to the contrary, was unreadable. Lucien didn’t want a fight- he hardly wanted to foul things up with the one person in all Tevinter whose good graces he actually wanted to keep- but he braced for the worst. Instead…

_Oh._

Everything melted from his mind in an instant when Dorian caught a hold of his collar and silenced all those worrying thoughts with a kiss. Dorian’s soft lips crushed fierce and insistent against Lucien’s. Lucien felt his heart pound triumphantly against his ribs. He was too shocked to reciprocate and before he could regain his composure, he was shoved back a step. Dorian pulled away as if burned. Heated footfalls carried him out of reach. He turned sharply on his heel and started to pace once more.

“If you get yourself caught and killed, I’ll find a way to bring you back to life just so I can kill you myself,” he fumed.

He jabbed a furious finger into Lucien’s chest. Lucien wrapped comforting hands around the threatening appendage, then used the grip to pull the other man in for another kiss. He’d wanted this for so long, ached for it, but he had never dared. There were a thousand reasons why he knew it was a bad idea, all of which were easier to listen to when he assumed Dorian didn’t feel the same way and which were swept clear out of mind the instant Dorian first kissed him. After all the nights he’d dreamed of this moment, he was grateful to have his senses about him this time.

He traced the strong line of Dorian’s jaw with reverent fingers. The skin there was freshly shaven and silky smooth. His hands found their way back to hair that was softer still. Clever lips tugged and teased in skilful union with the delicate scrape of teeth. His tongue followed the crease of lips flavored by the lingering taste of brandy. Hot breaths were traded and collected in the trim bristle of the men’s facial hair.

Dorian gripped Lucien’s hips and pulled their bodies flush. Leather creaked and buckles clinked against each other. Lucien gasped. Dorian took immediate advantage by slipping his tongue into the already opened mouth. Lucien hummed out his pleasure. They tumbled, tangled in each other’s arms, and fell against the broad trunk of an ancient tree. A large, ornate bird squawked its protest from a low hanging branch above. Startled, the two men jumped apart as it flew off in an angry flurry of jewel colored feathers.

Lucien bit back laughter. “I’m so glad my sister insisted we add those wretched beasts to the garden.”

Theirs wasn’t the only attention grabbed by the shrill sound. Light spilled out when one of the large doors to the estate cracked open. The figure of a tall, regal woman was silhouetted in the frame. “Lucien, are you still out there? What are you doing? We need to finish preparing you for tomorrow.”

Both men tensed. Dorian melted silently into the deeper shadows. Lucien’s shoulders slumped. He blew a resentful breath through tightly grit teeth and pulled the wrinkles out of his coat. He walked into the periphery of the warm indoor light.

“Just clearing my head. I’ll be inside in a moment, mother,” he called back with a casual wave of his hand. Though he couldn’t actually see her expression at such a distance, it was easy to imagine her glower as she lingered in the doorway a moment longer. As soon as she’d disappeared, he closed the distance between him and Dorian again. “Well, Magister Valeria calls.”

Dorian wore a too bright smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I quite understand. I should be off, anyway.”

“Dorian wait. I’m sure we could still have at least one final moment together before I go.”

Dorian’s smile flickered. He made a valiant effort to keep the mask in place but a subtle waver in his voice betrayed him. “I’ve had enough stolen moments, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll be back. I promise I will. And then we’ll…”

The words died in Lucien’s mouth when he found he didn’t know how to finish that statement. He knew the reality as well as Dorian- there was no easy future for them but that didn’t mean there was no future at all. He wanted to try even though he wasn’t sure what it would mean for either of them or even what trying would look like.

“Listen to you. A romantic indeed,” Dorian groaned, though his displeasure was as unconvincing as his earlier smile. He slipped further into the shroud of darkness offered by broad leafed plants and looming statues. “I’d really better leave before you start making calf-eyed professions. One of us needs to keep his dignity. Just… try not to get yourself killed. I hold to my earlier threat, but I’d really rather not go through all the trouble of trying to raise you back up.”

“I will be safe and I will return. You have my word.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

With one final reluctant but earnest grin, Dorian disappeared completely into the night. Lucien lingered a moment. He committed that smile and the promise of reunion to memory. Though he didn’t know it in that moment, it was a memory he would need in the storm to come.


	2. The Tevinter Trevelyan

Lucien hadn’t been lying when he said he’d carefully considered what might go wrong when he infiltrated the Conclave. If he’d still decided it was worth the risk, he felt he could hardly be faulted. Who could have ever predicted all the ways it actually would go so very spectacularly, extraordinarily wrong?

Try as he might, he still couldn’t remember the blast that started it all. He wished his memory was just as selective when it came to everything that followed. Countless people were killed in an instant and though he couldn’t remember the actual event, the proof was laid bare for him to see in the charred and twisted corpses that surrounded the Breach. He no longer dreamed. Instead, when fitful, feverish sleep found him, he would run through a nightmare with terrors at his heels. Eyes- far too many gleaming eyes- tracked his every step. Then, thanks to the accursed, demon spewing hole in the sky, there was pain that lit his every nerve on fire and threatened to consume him entirely.

It wasn’t that pain that drew him back to the conscious world once more but stomach churning nausea. He opened his eyes to orient himself, however that only made matters worse. The world seemed to turn on its head. He moaned and squeezed his eyes shut again. A woman scoffed from across the room.

“I’ll assume this is the first time you’ve experienced a Templar’s powers, Tevinter.”

Well, that wasn’t good.

Lucien pushed himself up off the cold, damp floor and stumbled back into a wall. Propped against something solid, he dared to open his eyes once more. It took some time for anything to coalesce out of the flickering torchlight. When he finally made sense of the world, he saw a familiar scene. He was back in the dungeons surrounded by his new friends, the Left and Right Hands of the Divine. With the two women were a pair of helmeted Templars and a glowering blond man with a rather ridiculous mane of fur draped over his shoulders. He thought the man seemed familiar but, as with everything related to the Breach, his identity was lost in a confusing haze.

For his part, Lucien realized he’d been changed into fresh clothing. It was a fact he would have been grateful for had his new clothes not been considerably lighter than what he’d been wearing before. On top of nausea and lingering pain was a cold that bit to his bones. He knew a few magical means to warm himself, none of which he could manage at the moment. His mana slipped liked water from his grip, making spellcasting impossible. He was relieved to find that at least this time he wasn’t shackled but he suspected that was part of the reason he found himself on the receiving end of a Templar’s attack.

Lucien opened his mouth to speak, only to promptly clap it shut to save himself from the embarrassment of emptying his stomach in front of all his visitors. The Seeker scowled at him. She curtly dismissed the others.

“Leave us,” she said.

“Surely the Templars should remain,” the overgrown lion of a man protested.

“I can handle a single mage, Commander.”

“We will be fine,” Leliana soothed. “I believe your associates already did their job. We will be done with our guest before he regains his senses.”

The commander huffed but complied with the request. He and the others filed neatly out of the room. The tense silence that followed did little to settle Lucien’s uneasy stomach. He actually found himself longing for the harsh interrogation from their first meeting. At least then he’d had less time to think about what horrible thing was in store for him. He’d never heard of the Seekers but he wasn’t especially eager to find out what they were capable of, especially given what he’d just experienced courtesy of southern Templars.

“I guess I shouldn’t have pointed out that I was still dangerous without a staff,” he croaked, desperate to break the suffocating quiet, no matter how inadvisable.

“Ugh,” Cassandra groaned and strode away with tightly clenched fists. The additional distance was likely the only thing stopping her from connecting those fists with Lucien’s jaw. “What were you doing at the Conclave, Tevinter?”

Lucien bit his tongue. Anything he might say in response would be an admission of guilt. No matter what else he might or might not have done, his identity alone was a deadly indictment. Leliana glided closer. She had a serene smile that Lucien found far more unsettling than the Seeker’s scowl. She bent so that they were nearly nose to nose and he could smell a subtle whiff of Andraste’s Grace.

“Who was this man, we wondered, who had appeared just when we needed him. No one knew him nor did any come forward to claim him. It was almost as though the Maker himself had delivered you,” she said in a too sweet voice. “Then, what should we find as we cared for you to make sure you did not fall saving us, but this.”

A golden chain cascaded smoothly from her fingers. Lucien stopped breathing as the attached pendant swung hypnotically in front of him. Three obsidian serpents with glimmering, gilded scales coiled together to form an intricate knot. It was the Trevelyan family birthright. Foolish, undoubtedly, for him to have worn it on his journey south. However, he’d hardly planned to undress in front of anyone and it had been hidden amongst heavy layers of clothes. It was supposed to be a comforting anchor while he was adrift in a foreign land. Chances had seemed quite good that, even should someone have seen it, they wouldn’t have known what it was. Clearly Leliana knew better than most.

Her grin widened, baring white teeth. “Lucien, eldest scion of house Trevelyan of Minrathous. Sent, I should think, to deliver a message from the Black Divine.”

Lucien’s heart thudded heavily in his chest. “No. I-”

What? What could he possibly say that would put a good spin on his presence at the Conclave? _Oh no, I was just spying for the Magisterium, but no harm meant_. There had always been a chance that it was going to come to this. He’d been sure he could talk his way out of it. Of course, at the time he hadn’t anticipated the scale of the disaster he was going to stumble into.

Cassandra stomped over to take Leliana’s place. She held out a sunburst brand that sung of lyrium and made Lucien’s skin prickle. “Do you know what this is?”

Lucien flinched away from the brand. His mouth went dry. He doubted there was a mage in all of Thedas who couldn’t guess the answer to that question. Despite what other nations might suppose, Tranquility was not unknown in Tevinter even if it didn’t serve quite the same purpose as it did in the south. Dorian’s face flashed at the forefront of Lucien’s mind, along with promises to stay safe and return.

“I was only there to observe,” he swore.

“Spy,” Cassandra corrected sharply.

“Fine, spy. Call it whatever you want but, whatever you think I intended, you cannot think I wanted this.” He held up his marked hand. It crackled fitfully. He refused to cringe or shrink back, though pain lanced through his arm. “I know you lot think we can’t scrape a knee in Tevinter without summoning down demons but I would never do something like this. I helped you stop all of this! Willingly, I might add.”

Leliana clicked her tongue. “With no interest for yourself, I am sure. It seems all this selfless help of yours has done wonders for your image.”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “I can see why you might say that, given our charming surroundings.”

“Do you know what those scouts you saved in the mountains are saying?” the redhead asked. “Or anyone who knows what you did in the valley, what they believe of you?”

Lucien looked back and forth between the two women. Each was her own flavor of indecipherable. Cassandra looked grim as ever. Leliana might as well have been wearing one of those blighted Orlesian masks for as much as she gave away. It felt like a trap but if they expected him to reveal some sort of scheme, they would be disappointed because he was lost.

“I don’t even know what day it is, let alone what people might be saying about me while I lay plastered to a dank floor. Let me guess, they’re marvelling at how this mark really brings out the green in my eyes?”

“They say you are Andraste’s Herald,” Cassandra explained in clipped tones, “sent by the Maker to save us from the Breach.”

Lucien blinked. He blinked again. He pinched himself and still he didn’t wake up. “ _What_?”

“The story of the woman behind you when you fell from the Breach has spread. They say your mark is proof of her favor,” Leliana said. “A heretical claim under normal circumstances...”

“But when applied to a mage from Tevinter…” Lucien sighed. “Yes, I can see the problem. Although, I’ll assume since I’m not currently burning at the stake that this isn’t widely known?”

“We thought it best to decide what to do with you first, yes.”

Lucien raked his hands up into his hairline and pressed his palms to his temples to fend off a headache. He dug his fingers into his scalp in an effort to still their shaking. Despite himself, he started to laugh.

“Does this amuse you?” Cassandra growled.

Lucien pushed off the wall to get onto unsteady feet. If he would face his fate, he would not do it slumped on the filthy floor. “Oh no, I’m far too aware of the likelihood that I’ll be killed, maimed, or magically mutilated to be anywhere near amused. It’s just completely absurd, isn’t it?”

“On that point, at least, I wholly agree,” the warrior conceded.

“You’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m at your mercy. So, what will you do with me?”

Cassandra stared him down once more but this time she had more trouble containing her emotions. She still wanted to throttle him, if her clenched fists were any indication. However, there was an earnest faith in her eyes that she could not conceal. She hated the very idea of it but some part of her truly believed he had been Maker sent. When she finally answered, her voice held a bit less steal because of it.

“I saw the vision at the Temple but I want to hear it from you- did you kill the Most Holy?”

Lucien held his chin high under Cassandra’s fiery gaze. “No. I’m not sure of much but I’m sure of that. All those lives lost, I could never do that. I don’t need to remember to know that much.”

Cassandra and Leliana’s eyes met. They nodded as some silent agreement passed between them. He was sure they’d already reached a decision long before he woke up. Speaking to him was merely a formality. Lucien tried to wait them out but his body had other ideas. He swayed and would have fallen had Cassandra not caught him by the elbow.

“We must all unite to end the Breach’s threat. The Divine’s last mandate ordered the reformation of the Inquisition. If it is to survive- if we are to survive- you are needed. Seal the Rifts that have opened across the land and help us save the world. Do that and prove that my faith in you is not misplaced,” she said.

Lucien released a breath he hadn’t realized until then that he’d been holding. He was quick to offer his assent. If death and Tranquility were off the table for the time being, he wasn’t about to argue. “Of course. Whatever I can do.”

Cassandra brightened considerably. Her cheer didn’t last long. She held up a cautioning finger. “You will tell no one who does not already know of your true identity. You will be watched at all times in Haven and if you go afield to combat the Rifts, I will accompany you. You are not free.”

Leliana offered a curt nod. “You will be shown to your quarters. Our ambassador, Josephine, will join you there later to go over the details of our arrangement. Any questions you might have can be posed to her. Commander Cullen, whom you met earlier, will make sure you are properly outfitted and geared.”

In other words, let’s make sure the Vint neither acts nor looks the part. He also suspected some ulterior motive, though he could hardly guess what. A staff was a staff and it wasn’t as though a weapon alone could stop him from practicing nefarious Magister magic, whatever they imagined that might be. He could only wait and see what these promised visits brought.

With that settled, they walked together out of the dungeons. Leliana held her hand at his back. To the world it must have looked like a casual walk amongst equals. Lucien knew what they did not see, that there was a dagger pressed flat in the palm of that helping hand. When he was delivered to his new quarters and heard the sharp clack of a lock behind him, he remembered Cassandra’s final words to him. _You are not free_.

All the same, it was far better than he could have hoped. Just as he could have never dreamed of how poorly things would go, even his wildest fantasies would never have supposed he might be saved by being declared Andraste’s Herald. It still left much to be desired but he was alive. As long as he was alive there was still a chance that he might pull through and not be made a liar for promising to return home.


	3. Lies and Leashes

Lucien paced the perimeter of his room until his head started to swim and he was forced to sit down. Dizziness overwhelmed him, though he didn’t know if it was a result of his mark, his recent run-in with Templars, or the fact that he’d already circled his new room more times than he could count. He fell back into the stiff, lumpy slab someone dared call a bed. After a few calming breaths, he propped himself up on his elbows to take a proper look at his new quarters.

There wasn’t much to see. The room could be crossed in just a few long strides in either direction. There were no windows. Considering the eternal, pervasive cold, he was willing to mark that as a positive. The more solid stone between him and the snow, the better. Then, of course, there was the bed. He dreaded what a night spent in it would be like as he could already feel it making his muscles stiff. There was also a small wooden dresser topped with a wash basin and a few other basic toiletries. That was it.

Once he was sure his legs wouldn’t give way beneath him, he got to his feet once more. He splashed a bit of water on his face and scrubbed his hands thoughtfully across his chin. The neat dusting of stubble he maintained on his face had grown to an itchy, untidy mess. His mustache, he was sure, was in similar disarray. There was a bit of soap but no mirror nor razor or any other sharp implements, so the idea of shaving seemed out of the question. Undoubtedly it was an attempt to foil his ability to perform blood magic and ensnare them all to his evil whims.

There was, to his amusement, a small tin of mustache wax. Orlesian, if the fanciful designs of lions painted on the tin were any indication. Apparently someone didn’t want the Herald of Andraste to look entirely as though a small animal had crawled up and died underneath his nose. He popped open the lid. He did his best with the cloudy reflection on the metal to reshape his mustache. Just as he finished, there was a light knock on the door.

Lucien rolled his eyes. He’d been locked in. Whoever was at his door had to know he’d been locked in. Still, far be it for him to be rude and live up to expectations. So instead he put on his most winning smile and in a cheery voice said, “Come in.”

The lock clicked and in walked a woman clad in rich silks and fine jewelry. Her heavy necklace jingled prettily with every delicate step. She looked distinctly out of place and made him feel shabbier by comparison. He longed for a proper bath, a good shave, and his own clothes. Instead settled for a gracious bow.

“The lady Josephine, I presume?”

“Josephine Montilyet,” she affirmed with a responding curtsey. She closed the door gently behind her. “And you must be Lord Lucien Trevelyan.”

“I’d offer you a seat but, well…”

He gestured at the sparse room. Josephine gave him an understanding smile.

“That’s quite alright.”

“You’re an ambassador? I imagine you’ve been busy smoothing this all over. How exactly does one put a good spin on throwing the Herald of Andraste into a dungeon?”

“You did not start there but your mark has been volatile. Considering you are also a known mage, it was agreed that the dungeons were the safest place for all involved. Of course, you were still well cared for.”

A convenient excuse and a believable one given all the mystery and death that surrounded the mark. As if on cue, Lucien’s hand crackled with energy. He clutched it tightly to his chest. Streams of emerald light escaped from between his fingers. He ground his teeth and waited for it to pass. Josephine reached out to him but her hand fell short. Lucien waved her off.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s just get on with this.”

“This will not take long,” Josephine said. “You are, I believe, aware of the difficult situation your identity has put us in?”

“I believe we just discussed the fact that I woke up in the dungeons? So yes, I’m well aware,” Lucien replied dryly. The pain in his hand ebbed and he slowly relaxed tense muscles. He tucked his hand under his arm. “Although I can’t see what the problem is. Should my family find out I’ve become some sort of symbol for the southern Chantry, I’d probably be disowned. Problem solved. Well, mostly solved. I suppose even without a family to claim me, I’d still be a heretical Tevinter mage.”

Josephine shuffled through the papers in her hands. “As to your family, are we correct in supposing that you used the Trevelyans in Ostwick to mask your origins while you attended the Conclave?”

“That’s right.”

“You will continue to do so. I am familiar with the Trevelyans. They are a deeply religious family. They will likely be a bit mortified to think anyone is aware of their connection to Tevinter, but I believe they will be amenable to playing along with our little ruse. There are many eager for you blood, it is true, but there are just as many eager for the opportunity to claim the Herald of Andraste as their own.”

Lucien arched an eyebrow. “Won’t that look a bit odd? A son appearing out of nowhere? I was only using them for a bit of short term subterfuge. I should hardly think it would stand up to deeper scrutiny.”

“That should not be an issue. It is not unheard of for families, particularly well connected noble families, to hide the existence of mage children. It should be sufficient to explain your education while also offering a reason as to why you are unfamiliar with Circle life. Such a solitary life also offers the advantage of excusing your, ah, eccentricities.”

Lucien barked in laughter. “So it’s a safeguard should I offend anyone’s rustic southern sensibilities.”

Josephine smiled sweetly. She held out a tightly rolled bundle of parchment. “Indeed. Leliana was quite thorough. You can acquaint yourself with all the finer details here.”

Lucien took the parchment and bounced it casually against his other hand. “Deception, power plays, and possibly world ending magic. You’re all really doing your best to make me homesick.”

“I wish it was not necessary,” Josephine sighed. She rubbed her hands together fretfully. “I do not enjoy such deceit. If, instead, we faced this all head on, we could perhaps find common ground. An alliance with Tevinter, even only with a few families, is an invaluable opportunity. We should take allies where we can, no matter how strange. What happened to Divine Justinia was a tragedy but she would have wanted us all to come together.”

“An admirable attitude but I wouldn’t worry about it. Like I said, I don’t think my family would be pleased to hear about my current situation.” A frown tugged down the corners of Lucien’s mouth as he considered his family, Dorian, and everyone else waiting for him back home. What did they think happened to him? “If they knew I was alive. I suppose for all they know, I died with everyone else.”

“I’m afraid we can’t contact them but is there anything else I can do for you? I can’t imagine any of this is what you’re used to.”

A joke died on Lucien’s lips. He didn’t have the heart for it anymore. Stories of his survival would drift north with time. He would be surprised if his family didn’t have a few discreet ears out already but in the meantime they would all presume him dead. That thought weighed like lead in his belly.

He scrubbed his hand across his chin. “A bath and a shave? Post guards if you need but I don’t think I can stand this thing growing on my face another day. And I’ll assume no one wants me to set my room on fire, so blankets or cloaks would be appreciated if they can be spared. I don’t know how anyone chooses to live in this cold.”

“I’m sure something can be arranged.”

Josephine took her leave with a gracious bob of her head. Cullen was already waiting outside of the door and he gave the ambassador a curt nod before taking her place in the small room. He didn’t have his pair of Templars with him this time but his face was grim. Lucien’s eyes travelled down to the small glass vial in the man’s hands.

“I’ll admit I don’t know how southern mages fight but when I was told you would be preparing me for the field, I expected a staff or a bit of armor, not an empty bottle,” Lucien said.

Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly. “You will be fitted for armor and a staff has already been prepared for your use. First, however, a precaution.”

He drew a knife from his belt. Lucien bumped into his bed when he took a defensive step backward. Cullen put his hands up, though the gesture wasn’t as nonthreatening as he might have hoped given the knife in his hand. Lucien eyed him skeptically.

“You should know this isn’t a decision that was made lightly,” the blond said. “However, it seemed a preferable option to keeping you locked up at all hours or setting guards. It’s for the best all around.”

“Right. Care to fill me in?”

“A phylactery,” Cullen explained. When Lucien simply stared back at him with a blank expression, he cleared his throat again. “It’s… we use them to track mages in the Circle. Or, used them before the rebellion. I just need to collect a bit of your blood.”

“ _Blood magic_?” Lucien scoffed. “You leash mages with blood magic? And you all say we’re the barbaric ones.”

Cullen’s jaw hardened. His gaze was sympathetic but he didn’t back down. He held out his hand and waited. Lucien weighed his options. He didn’t think anyone would force him into this. Should he resist, however, he might find himself confined to too small quarters until they decided to drag him out to fight the Breach. He’d only been in his room an hour and he was already starting to get restless.

He took a deep, bracing breath and held out his right hand. Cullen placed the blade against Lucien’s palm. Lucien hissed when the delicate flesh sliced open and blood trickled into the vial. It seemed to take ages to fill. He bit the inside of his lip to stop it from curling. Blood magic. It seemed no matter where he went, people would find an excuse to use it. He tried not to consider what this might mean for him in the future.

“Are you a Templar yourself?” he asked, casting about for something else to occupy his mind.

“I was. I left the Order when Cassandra offered me a position in the Inquisition. The two Templars you met in the dungeons earlier were associates of mine from Kirkwall. They served well. Or, as well as anyone could serve in Kirkwall. I trust them.”

Lucien wasn’t sure whether that was meant to imply they would be respectful of him even though he was a mage or that they wouldn’t blab about him being from Tevinter. Probably the latter. Maybe both. It didn’t much matter to him either way. They’d given him more than enough reason to give them both a wide berth.

His gaze fell and landed back on the vial. Almost there.

“I’m surprised you didn’t just take the blood while I was unconscious. I’m sure it would have been easier,” he said.

“Perhaps. I wanted it to be your choice,” Cullen replied.

As if it was much of a choice. Lucien was a prisoner either way, only this way the walls were invisible. Still, after being forced into one thing after another the past few days, he was willing to take even the illusion of choice over none at all. It at least felt less oppressive than being saddled with this whole savior of the world business.

“Well then, thank you, I suppose. For whatever that’s worth.”

“Just don’t give me a reason to use it.” Cullen wiped away the last smear of blood with his thumb and put a stopper in the vial. “I still need to get the final enchantments placed on the phylactery before it’s finished. While I get that done, you will visit with our smith, Harritt. After that, you’re free to do as you please.”

Lucien barely heard Cullen. He was still stuck on one particular tidbit of information the commander had imparted. The phylactery needed enchantments, which meant mages were needed for all of this. No doubt in his particular case some clever lies had been delivered so that no one would know exactly what they were helping to do. But what about in every other instance? That mages did this sort of thing on a regular basis and would help imprison their fellows was just one more baffling fact that he didn’t have the mind to ponder at the moment.

“I don’t suppose there’s a tavern? I could really use a drink.”

Cullen chuckled softly. “That there is. Just, for your own good, don’t drink too much.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll run my mouth and spill my secret?”

“Hardly. It’s just that the ale is terrible.”

Lucien laughed. It was the first real laugh he’d had in days. It was a wonder how much weight that eased from his shoulders. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “After the week I’ve had, though, I make no promises.”

“Fair enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I've been trying to keep at least a chapter ahead of what I post and the next chapter was not playing nice. Anyway, thanks for reading and for everyone who has left kudos and comments. :)


	4. Letters Home

Much to his displeasure, Lucien wasn’t able to make it to the tavern that night. The hour had grown late by the time he was done having his armor fit and collecting his new staff. On a normal day that wouldn’t have deterred him but his days had been anything but normal of late. He was already staggering from weariness without adding alcohol to the equation. He decided to would rather save himself the embarrassment of passing out in a snow drift.

A candle was burning on his dresser in anticipation of his return. A small smile graced his features when he saw a quilt and a pile of heavy, lined cloaks at the center of his bed. Additionally, the coat he’d come south in had been laundered and mended. He found its appearance was improved remarkably by the memory of how warm it had been. There was a small note perched on top of it all. A message was written in a delicate, swooping hand that Lucien supposed belonged to Josephine.

 _“As requested, Lord Trevelyan, a bit of warmth for one not used to colder climes._ ”

There weren’t enough blankets in the world to make this cold tolerable but Lucien appreciated the gesture. From what he’d seen walking around Haven today, supplies were scarce. He threw his boots aside, burrowed under the quilt, and left the entire stack of cloaks on top. Despite the early hour and his concerns about the quality of his bed, his head had no sooner hit the pillow than he drifted into a deep slumber.

After all the nightmares he’d had of late, he was overjoyed to have a night devoid of dreams. Of course, that might have been because he hadn’t gotten a chance to dream. He felt like he’d barely fallen asleep when shouting outside his door woke him up. He groaned as the first hints of a headache throbbed in response. He made an attempt to block it all out by rolling over and burying himself deeper in his covers. Outside his quarters, the shouting grew louder.

“I thought you had finally seen reason when you threw that man back into the dungeons, Seeker. Now I hear he was not only seen roaming about unescorted but that you had him armed and armored!”

“As I said before, Chancellor, the Herald was placed in the dungeons as a precautionary measure. His mark-”

“Is still a dangerous unknown. And, I should think, proof of his guilt. You don’t really believe this blasphemous nonsense about him being chosen by the Maker, do you?”

“What I believe is that he did not kill the Divine and that he voluntarily risked his life in an attempt to close the Breach.”

“An attempt, I might add, which did not succeed nor cost him his life. It seems a rather empty gesture, in my opinion.”

“And your opinion means very little to me.”

“It should mean something. If you continue to support that heretic and form this Inquisition of yours, you place yourself in opposition to the Chantry.”

“If it saves the world, then so be it.”

There was a bit more squabbling before Lucien heard one pair of feet stomp away. He was just about ready to believe he’d rounded a corner in his relationship with Cassandra when her scowling face appeared in his doorway.

“What are you smiling about, Tevinter?”

“I think I’m growing on you.”

Cassandra made a noise at the back of her throat that said exactly what she thought of that. “Get out of bed and ready yourself. There’s much that needs to be done.”

Lucien couldn’t decide if that was under or overstating matters. There was indeed much to be done. Haven was a bustle of activity, even as the sun barely crested the mountains. Important missives were penned and sent, and the village was prepared for an influx of inhabitants. The Inquisition was starting to take shape. Lucien, though, had very little to do with any of it. He was there because Cassandra thought he ought to be and likely because she wanted to keep an eye on him.

The only proceeding which in any way required Lucien’s presence was a heated discussion about Chantry support. No matter what other alliances they might make, the fledgling organization needed some support from the Chantry or at least needed to sway the tide of opinion away from total opposition if it was to survive. That was a feat that would have been difficult under the best circumstances and circumstances were anything but ideal.

Leliana saw an opportunity in a mother named Giselle who had a reputation for open-mindedness. The problem of course being that such open-mindedness might extend to mages but not those of the Tevinter variety. Lucien’s identity was a well kept secret but none of the Inquisition’s leaders seemed to have faith in his ability to keep that secret himself. He’d been content to let them all bicker over the other mundanities of day to day operations, but this was too much.

“It’s not as though I’m going to pick a fight with the woman over dogma,” he snapped at last. Every eye in the makeshift war room turned on him. “Eventually someone is going to notice if you keep me hidden away. If, on the other hand, I go meet this woman who wants to see the infamous Herald of Andraste, I can assure nothing earth shattering will happen. She’ll undoubtedly offer me some kind platitudes, I’ll nod blandly, and the world will continue on.”

Bickering still continued after that point but it took on a considerably less infuriating slant. And it wasn’t all bad. For all the tedium, there were also breaks for food and a long overdue bath. Still no chance to shave but he found he was in a forgiving mood after a long, hot, and- most importantly- uninterrupted bath.

His good mood held through the rest of the day but it could not survive when he found he’d be starting all over again the morning after. Day after day he sat through deliberations that were oftentimes about him, though which he was very rarely encouraged to participate in. If he was lucky, he might be sent on some minor errand to Adan and get a chance to question Solas in the process, or he’d swing by for a brief chat with Varric on his way to Threnn.

More often then not, he found himself sequestered in the back room of the Chantry. For a while he made the pretense of paying attention and then, after nodding off a few times, he realized no one actually noticed if his eyes glazed over. That was when he started to write imaginary letters home to entertain himself.

_Dear Mother, he would think, I thought of a dreadfully clever way to work the Conclave to our advantage. Or, rather, I stumbled into it. You know how I am. At any rate, you’ll never imagine what it is. I’ve also managed to thoroughly entrench myself in the Inquisition. If you haven’t heard of it already, I’m sure you will soon. I have a pretty title, though you will be comforted to know that, as with all political matters back home, I am roundly ignored on all fronts._

Whenever he focused back in on the conversation, he’d inevitably find that sentiment still held true. Josephine would give him the courtesy of her full attention should he choose to speak up but no one sought out his opinion. And so he felt little guilt in finding more amusing diversions.

 _Sister, I have a story even you would not believe. It starts with me getting blown up and it doesn’t end there_. Or, _Aurelia, I apologize for leaving things as I did between us. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve become an honorary Marcher and I’m living in Ferelden. Everything is frozen and smells of dog_. Inevitably his thoughts drifted to one person only.  _Dorian, You were right. You’re always right… I wish I could actually write. Or, better yet, see you. You’ve no idea how dull things are without you around. Actually, you probably do_.

It was at that point that Lucien stopped being amused by his little game. He pushed out his chair and got to his feet. The others in the room tore their gaze from the map before them and looked questioningly at him.

“I’m not doing you any good just sitting here and I didn’t agree to have a phylactery made so that I could be tied to you all day. Isn’t there something I could actually do?”

“So be it,” Cassandra said. She rested her hand casually on the pommel her sword. It was an unnerving habit of hers he’d noticed whenever she spoke to him. “A test. If you wish to prove you can be trusted outside of Haven, I would like to see it for myself before you are allowed to speak to Mother Giselle. Come with me tomorrow to a Rift that was spotted by one of the scouts an hour’s march from here.”

“Fine. In the meantime, none of you really need me here, so I’m going to get a drink.”

With that, he marched out of the room and straight out of the Chantry after. He was surprised by how welcome the cool kiss of the fresh mountain air felt after being cooped up for so long inside. Even the tavern looked more on the side of warm and charming than its usual sad and rundown.

Cullen sadly had not been lying previously when he’d mentioned the quality of the tavern’s ale. Lucien had always assumed his countrymen had exaggerated to some extent when they decried the unrefined tastes in the south. Yet, here was the piss colored proof. At least it was potent, he’d give it that. After days spent either playing pet Tevinter or dodging an ever growing crowd of gaping onlookers desperate for a good peek at the Herald of Andraste, he needed potent. He’d barely started on his second pint when he was forced to use his staff for support. He glowered up at the ornamental dragon that topped the weapon.

“An expression like that, I hope the fake dragon at least impugned your family’s honor or something.”

“Varric,” Lucien said by way of greeting. He lifted his mug. “I’d ask you to stay and have a drink but I think I like you too much for that.”

The dwarf pulled out a stool at Lucien’s side. “What, that stuff? It’s not so bad. Talk to me when you’ve had dwarven ale. It’s literally brewed from dirt. Dirt!”

Lucien chuckled. He threw back the mug and drained the remnants into his mouth. His eyes started to water and he nearly spat it all back up. He was coughing by the time he choked it down. Varric reached over and clapped him on the back. Lucien hummed appreciatively. His head sank down to the table and he signalled for another. When the drink arrived, it was intercepted by Varric’s waiting hands.

“Maybe take a moment to come up for air there, Herald” he suggested.

Lucien wrinkled his nose. “The air here’s not much better than the drink.”

“You really are a noble,” Varric snorted. “That’s right, isn’t it? I’ve been poking around and you wouldn’t believe the kinds of things I’ve heard.”

“You might be surprised. But, yeah, that’s me- the unexplodable noble.”

Varric edged his seat over conspiratorially. “That’s a great hook but it’s barely a foreword. What’s the full story?”

“Is everything a story to you?”

“It’s not just me. That’s life. So what’ve you got? Anyone special waiting for you back home?”

Lucien looked sidelong at Varric. The dwarf was fishing. Lucien was sure there wasn’t any ill-intent behind the questions but that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. He didn’t have a clear enough head to think of clever answers and he hadn’t had the chance to look over the papers that detailed his cover. More than that, he didn’t especially feel like sharing, particularly when it came to that final inquiry. Still, he knew he would just pique the interest of the nosy novelist further if he didn’t offer any answer whatsoever.

“There might have been someone. I left before I really had a chance to find out. Now I’m stuck here and I don’t even know if anyone back home knows I’m alive,” he said honestly.

It was a dodge and likely to raise more more questions than it answered, but he hoped sincerity won him a few points. Whether it was that or his obvious displeasure that got Varric to back off, back off he did.

“Cheer up, Herald. It’s not all bad. At least you’re finally out of the dungeons. That’s gotta feel good. I mean, there were some people getting a bit twitchy about that mark of yours and supposedly it was the safest place to keep you, but waking up there couldn’t have been quite the hero’s welcome you were expecting.”

Lucien leaned his staff against the back of his seat. He made a pillow of his arms and buried his face in the folds. “I wouldn’t say any of this has been what I expected,” he mumbled.

“Shit. You don’t have to tell me. This is weird even by my standards. But you’ve taken the brunt of the weirdness. You holding up alright?”

Lucien propped his head up with his hand. The cut on his palm, still rather freshly closed,  scratched uncomfortably against his coarse stubble. It seemed for the time being both of his hands held unpleasant reminders for him. Rather than think about either, he said, “Things could be worse. I think Cassandra has decided that there are things she’d like to kill more than me, so that’s good.”

“The Seeker can definitely be a bit overzealous, but she means well… I think.”

Lucien squeezed his eyes shut and tried to close out the memory of that lyrium brand hanging above his head. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He felt a mug being pressed into his spare hand. Varric winked at him when he opened his eyes. “Alright, you look like you could really use this. Just don’t push yourself. I’m not sure you should try fighting Rifts and hangovers at the same time. That’s just a recipe for trouble and I think you’re full up at the moment.”

“More than full, yes,” Lucien sighed. “I should probably just call it a night. No need to make a total fool of myself and strain everybody’s faith in the Maker. And sleep sounds amazing. Real I didn’t get caught in an explosion or pass out sleep.”

“Try not to stumble into anything apocalyptic on your way to bed, Herald.”

“‘I’ll try, Varric. Trust me, I will definitely try.”

Lucien took up his staff once more. He leaned on it heavily as he made his way out of the tavern and back to his small quarters. He slipped more than once on mud and slush. What an inspiring sight he must be. Thankfully the walk was short and the hour late, so all the people who had been desperate for a look at him before were already asleep. He hoped to join them soon enough. And with a productive day ahead he found that, hangover or not, he was actually looking forward to the morning to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of the set up chapters. Hopefully a bit more action from here out.


	5. Rifts and Snow Drifts

As it turned out, an hour was an overly optimistic estimate for how long it would take them to reach the Rift outside Haven. They’d made good time right up until they had to veer off the road. Then it became a battle against the elements. Where the snow was shallower, there was an abundance of ice. Where it was deeper, it pulled at their feet and slowed every step.

Cassandra was stubbornly stoic about the whole thing. Her head was held high and her gaze was so intense that Lucien was a bit surprised the snow didn’t melt before her. She marched forward as though the idea that the weather might hinder her in any way was an insult. Solas seemed similarly unfazed. How he managed without so much as socks to protect his feet, Lucien couldn’t even begin to imagine. Some sort of ancient elven trick, perhaps. Those two probably could have made it to the Rift and back already had they not had to keep waiting for Lucien and Varric.

“I hate snow,” the Tevinter grumbled through chattering teeth.

Varric huffed. “You hate it? At least you all have those long, gangly legs to walk on. I’m ass deep in this shit."

“Every time I breath, the moisture in the air collects on my facial hair and freezes.” Lucien ran his fingers along the offending hair and swept a bit of frost off in the process. “If this keeps going, I’m going to have an icestache. A mustachical.”

Varric pulled at the scarf looped loosely about his neck. Peering down he said, “I’ll trade your frozen facial hair for my frozen chest hair.”

Lucien chuckled. He cupped his hands in front of his face and blew out a steamy breath in an attempt to warm the frigid tip of his nose. “How long do you think it takes for frostbite to set in?”

Varric shook his head. “I’m trying really hard not to think about it.”

“I keep getting snow in my boots. It’s melting and getting my legs all wet. I can’t feel my toes.”

“Like I said, at least you have long legs. I’ve got snow in places I’d rather not get so cold.”

That was apparently a step too far. Cassandra finally grew tired of their complaining and rounded on them. “Enough!”

The man and dwarf both shrank back. Lucien held up his hands defensively.

“What?” he asked innocently. “We’re just making conversation.”

Varric nodded his head. “Just a bit of friendly banter. You should try it some time, Seeker. I think you’d find it works much better to warm people to you than shouting or stabbing innocent books.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and marched on. “Ugh.”

Solas chuckled softly and followed after. Neither made any further attempt to wait for the two stragglers. Lucien vaguely considered making a run for it. As far as he knew, Cullen was the one holding on to his phylactery. If he could lose Cassandra here, she would have to go back to Haven before she could begin tracking him. Maybe just maybe it would be enough of a head start for him to have a real chance of making it home.

He sighed. That was the entire point of this outing, to make sure he didn’t run the first chance he got. And he didn’t want to run. Not really. As much as he wanted to get back to warmth or at least far, far away from snow, he wanted to see this thing through. How long would he get to enjoy his homeland before the hole in the sky swallowed them all?

That thought, it turned out, was an even better distraction than trading complaints with Varric. He picked up his pace to catch up with the others. Varric groaned and did his best to keep up. Cassandra noticed the effort and took pity on them. She shortened her own long stride so that they were all reunited at the base of a small ridge.

Varric rubbed his arms. “Please tell me we’re almost there.”

“We’re almost there,” Lucien assured.

“How do you… oh.”

Lucien had pulled off his glove to display the fitful crackling of his marked hand. He covered it again with a tight frown. He couldn’t quite feel his legs but he pulled into the lead. Sure enough, as soon as they crested the rise, they saw a Rift not far in the distance. Demons drifted lazily about it. A pair of rage demons had the courtesy to melt most of the snow. What snow was left was painted green by the light.

With a gesture, Lucien threw a barrier on the entire party. Cassandra seemed momentarily thrown by the act but she recollected herself quickly enough. She was the first to charge the demons with the mages and rogue keeping a careful distance after.

Lucien had fought alongside all of them before but he’d been rather too preoccupied with the whole not dying thing to actually watch them. Cassandra was clearly trained for this sort of combat. She shrugged off many of the demons’ attacks as though they were nothing. Her shield was always just where it needed to be, just when it needed to be there. It aided her as much in deflecting oncoming attacks as it did in felling her enemies.

She swept low under the long reaching claws of a terror demon and then bashed upward, sending the beast to its back. In the blink of an eye, Cassandra was above it, driving her sword down. By the time the creature shrieked out its dying breaths, the Seeker was already on her way to her next opponent. She probably wouldn’t have appreciated him saying so, but Lucien thought she was a beautiful fighter. She was far too rough to be considered truly graceful. Still, she was powerful. Precise. Every move was dealt with purpose. Lucien was relieved to have that purpose directed elsewhere for once.

Varric was much more difficult to track. It might have been the middle of a sunny day and he might have been ass deep in snow, but somehow the dwarf managed to slip from sight with ease. He would fire a bolt into a passing wraith only to then appear atop a boulder a few moments later to get a better angle on a shot at a shade. All the while, he left a trail of clever traps behind him. More than once, Lucien only noticed one of the contraptions just in time to avoid stepping right on it. Many of their opponents were not so lucky.

Solas, meanwhile, was much harder to get a read on than the others. At first glance, his use of magic felt distinctly underwhelming. This was not the magic Lucien was used to in Tevinter, where mages made a show of their power. Solas was much, much more subtle and, in some ways, a cleverer fighter for it. He took advantage of the elements. A gust of mountain air became a veritable blizzard, pelting all the demons caught in its wake with ice and snow. The rage demon that melted the snow on the battlefield soon found the water left in its wake turned to deadly ice.

More baffling was his redirection of ambient energies to protect himself from incoming magic. It wasn’t that Lucien had never seen such a trick. On the contrary, it was something he’d seen Dorian do to perfection countless times and something he was quite capable of himself. If one was to survive long in Tevinter, one learned as many ways as possible to protect from magical attacks. What he was baffled by was the fact that anyone outside of his homeland knew how to do it. He wanted dearly to ask Solas where he’d learned the technique but knew he couldn’t. Instead he bit back his curiosity and focused on his own casting.

With so much offensive magic already in the air, he thought it best to bulk up their defense. Cassandra was doing an admirable job but one woman couldn’t be expected to stop every attack. He made sure everyone’s barriers stayed fresh and, when another demon would inevitably try to join the fray from the Fade, he used dispelling magic to quash the attempt. Of course, he could hardly let the others have all the fun.

Fire leaped from his staff and reduced a shade to ash. A wall of flame roared to life, effectively blocking a pair of wraiths as they attempted to flee the Seeker. He was quite enjoying himself and doing a good job of keeping the lingering mountain cold at bay until a stray fireball blasted into one of the rage demons and fed the creature’s own fires.

“ _Kaffas_ ,” he cursed under his breath as the beast swelled to twice its previous size.

“Thanks, Herald,” Varric called from afar. “I was just thinking what we really needed were bigger demons.”

“Just trying to keep things interesting,” Lucien quipped back.

Cassandra glared at him. Her eyes then widened with sudden alarm. Lucien was about to ask her what he’d done when he noticed the light at his feet. A moment too late. Clawed fingers raked across his back as a terror demon pulled itself from the earth. Lucien’s barrier took most of the damage, though the blow knocked him to the ground. A glyph he’d prepared earlier for just such an occasion went off at the demon’s feet. Unfortunately the blast sent the beast right on top of Lucien.

His heart pounded in his ears. There was little he could do at such a range. He knew how to wield his staff as a weapon, but not while he was lying winded on his back tangled in the demon’s spindly limbs. He bashed upward as hard as he could. Try as he might, he couldn’t hold the creature back long enough to form a proper attack. His barrier flickered. He swallowed hard, expecting the worst, when a number of things happened all at once.

His barrier was refreshed in a dazzling flash of turquoise. A bolt then struck the demon in its gaping mouth. While it reared in fury, Cassandra charged in and barreled it over. Lucien didn’t waste the opportunity to scrabble to his feet. He followed Solas’ lead and called on his mana to shape the snow drift behind the demon into a perilous wall of ice. Cassandra crushed the creature against it. Her sword struck home, painting the glistening ice with black blood. With that, the final demon was vanquished.

“Quickly,” Solas called. “Close the Rift!”

Lucien didn’t need to be told twice. He thrust out his palm. As always, the mark on his hand reacted violently to the tear in the Veil. He felt his nerves burn and there was a tingle in his teeth from all the energy crackling about him. The Rift snapped shut with a resounding boom. Once it was sealed, he fell forward and rested his hands on his knees.

Solas was the first to his side. Bent over as he was, Lucien could see little more than a pair of confoundingly bare feet. “You continue to show remarkable progress in your control of the mark,” the elf said. “How are you feeling?”

Lucien stood up straight once more. “Not bad. A bit light headed, I guess, but otherwise okay.”

“That is good to hear,” Solas replied.

“It’s not too late to pass out,” Varric remarked when he joined the pair. “It would save you the walk back.”

“I think I’d rather not risk the chance of waking up in the dungeons again. Besides,” Lucien said, jerking his chin toward the Seeker as she stomped their way, “there’s always the chance she’d just leave me here.”

The dwarf laughed and clapped Lucien on the arm. “Good point. Maker knows I’m not going to lug you back.”

“Nor I,” Solas added with a small, cheeky smile.

Lucien rolled a kink out of his neck and then shook his head. “Glad to know you all have my back.”

Cassandra wore a deep scowl when she joined them all at the center of the battlefield. “We should not linger here. We already took much longer than planned. It is well past time to get back to Haven.”

“Alright, alright. No need to get grumpy, Seeker. I think we can all agree the sooner we get back inside, the better.”

With that, Varric and Solas started back down the long road to Haven, retracing the path they’d made through the snow earlier. Lucien hung back. He cleared his throat and smiled brightly at Cassandra.

“So, how did I do? Ready to unleash me on the world?”

“No,” she replied bluntly. “But you did your part and you proved once again that you are needed. Whether I am ready or not matters little. Do no make me change my mind about that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”


	6. The Snake and the Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a bit of reworked in-game dialogue.

Fat drops of rain pelted the earth in heavy sheets. Lucien’s clothes were plastered to him and wet tendrils of hair clung to his forehead, creating a pathway for rivulets of water to travel directly into his eyes. He blinked furiously to try to clear his eyesight.

No matter where he went, the weather was unrelentingly terrible. If there wasn’t snow there was rain. If neither of those, then bears. The Hinterlands had more than enough bears for it to count as weather. And always cold. No matter how many layers he bundled himself in, he never seemed to be warm.

He missed the weather back home but there was more than that making him homesick. He longed to hear from his friends and family or at least get some reassurance that they were all okay. Instead, the only family he’d been in contact with were the Trevelyans out of Ostwick. So many ages separated them that they were hardly anymore closely related to him than anyone else in the Free Marches, yet they were all he had. The lie he was forced to live was wearing on him.

_Think positively, Trevelyan._

The last few weeks had seen a few victories. Someone in power had finally decided he was trustworthy enough to be allowed a razor for shaving. That was unequivocally a very good day. He’d managed to garner Mother Giselle’s support. That was also good. The subsequent trip to Val Royeaux had been a disaster but most of the credit there fell on the shoulders of the Templars. That was… well, if not good, it was at least not as bad as it could have been. Then, along the way, he’d brought a few more into the Inquisition’s fold along the way. Although he wasn’t entirely sure the stray Warden, friend of Red Jenny, and Madame de Fer all counted as successes.

He held no such doubt when it came to the current asset- and he used that word as loosely as possible- was concerned. The lieutenant of the Bull’s Chargers had surprised him early one morning in Haven. Still drowsy and unprepared, he had found himself unable to think of a good reason why the Inquisition had no need of the mercenary company. So he’d agreed to meet with the Chargers’ Qunari leader, only thinking of a plausible excuse when it was too late to back out.

Thus he found himself on a miserable strip of Ferelden shoreline, accompanied by his constant companion Cassandra and a couple of the new additions. He took his frustrations out on a nearby stone. A poor decision on a steep and muddy slope. He was quickly rewarded for his childish behavior. He lost his balance and slid on his ass the rest of the way down the incline.

“ _Venhedis_ ,” he spat reflexively.

“What was that?” Sera called as she slid down to stand beside him.

Lucien winced. He stood and busied himself wiping what mud he could from the back of his cloak. “Nothing,” he replied.

“Not nothing. You were swearing. I know swearing when I hear it. I just don’t understand why it was that elfy shit.”

Sera stuck out her tongue in distaste. Lucien tried to find a response but he was now too confused to lie. He furrowed his brow. “What?”

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” she responded as if it was the most obvious thing. “Knew a former Dalish, yeah? She left most of that rubbish behind. But stub her toe or fall on her butt or whatever and that sort of elfy shit would come pouring right out.”

“There’s an image.” Lucien frowned as his mind worked to swiftly offer up an explanation. “I must have picked it up when I tried to learn Elvish. There are some really excellent old magical tomes that you can’t read any other way.”

Sera wrinkled her nose. Discussion of both elves and magic in the same sentence was plenty to destroy her interest. She stomped off, followed in short order by Cassandra and Blackwall. Lucien’s relief was short lived. He caught sight of the hulking figure of the Iron Bull when they rounded the base of the hill. The other Chargers were scattered around their captain along the shore. What really unsettled him, though, was the appearance of the mercenary company’s opponents. Even at such a distance, he knew them for what they were in an instant- those were his countrymen.

He tried to tell himself that they probably deserved whatever was coming to them. There was no good reason for them to be so far south. A small voice at the back of his head reminded him that the same could be said of him. Cassandra was obviously thinking something similar. She waited, stony faced, for him to make his move.

He shifted the grip on his staff. “Let’s show the Chargers how it’s done.”

He cast barriers and, with that, everyone was off. Blackwall and Cassandra charged straight into the thick of it. A pair of Tevinters crumpled before the warriors. When his countrymen tried to get back up, Sera’s deadly accuracy downed them for good. Lucien pushed past any last hesitancy and joined the fray. Flashfire tore from his staff, burning one and sending another stumbling backward into his waiting mine.

Outnumbered as they were, the Tevinters were finished off in short order. The Iron Bull issued a few finals orders to his men. Lucien did likewise, sending the others to help the Chargers so that he could talk to the Qunari privately. The mercenary captain wore an easy smile, though he kept his immense battleaxe in hand. He buried the ax head deep in a nearby crate when Lucien neared.

“Someone screwed up,” he said. “Word was I was supposed to deal with a mage. Nobody said a Vint was the Herald of Andraste.”

Lucien shuffled his feet. “I think you’re confused. I’m from Ostwick.”

Bull’s chest rumbled with booming laughter. “Right, and I’m a nug. You think I don’t know a Vint, especially a Vint in battle, when I see one? I’ll assume you’ve heard of the Ben Hassrath?” Lucien’s cold silence was met with more laughter. “That’s what I thought. They- well, we- aren’t so easy to fool in person. So I assume you have an idea of how useless it would be for you to try to lie to me.”

“You’re a spy and you just… told me?”

“I just want you to know what you’re dealing with. You might not have figured it out but something called the Inquisition? I’d have been tipped sooner or later. Especially if they’ve managed to convince people you’re a Marcher. You must have some good people covering your ass.”

Lucien’s mouth formed a thin, stubborn line. He’d heard more than enough about the Ben Hassrath to know that Iron Bull’s claims were likely true but he wasn’t about to admit it. Their battle of wills was interrupted by the slick scrape of boots on wet stone. Bull inclined his head toward his second in command.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant?”

A Tevinter name. Lucien seemed to recall the lieutenant himself offering his full name upon their first meeting but, under the circumstances, Lucien felt sure Bull had some other reasoning for saying it all again. Example of a good Tevinter? A trusted one? As opposed to, what, present company or just the ones dead on the ground? He’d have to figure that out later.

“Of course,” he said. “Good to see you, Cremisius.”

“Good to see you again. And just Krem.”  The lieutenant nodded in greeting. “Throat cutters are done, Chief.”

“Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

“None taken. At least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

Another roundabout reminder- the good Tevinter is a friend and the bad ones are dead. Or maybe it was nothing more than it appeared. Whichever the case, Lucien was thoroughly tired of games. He held up his hands in defeat.

“Fine. You got me,” he sighed. “But I have to know, how’d you figure it out? You’ve only known me for a few minutes.”

“Probably could have guessed in less.” Bull held up his hand and counted off the offenses on his fingers. “Had my suspicions when I noticed you falter when you saw me fighting Vints. Plus, you’re all wrapped up in fancy cloaks but you’re still obviously cold. It’s a bit warmer up in Ostwick but not that much warmer. Also, you’re accent isn’t right. And most apostates make at least some attempt to hide their magic. Even if they’re doing spells out in the open, they don’t usually make a big showy deal out of it. You Vints, though, can’t seem to resist showing off. You make it all a spectacle, like you not only want people to know what you can do but also be impressed by it. Should I go on?”

“No, that’s quite alright.” Lucien rubbed absentmindedly at his temples. “So do you have a problem with me?”

“That depends- you some power hungry, blood mage, slaver terrorizing innocent people?”

“No. For what it’s worth, I’ve been trying to change my homeland. I came to the Conclave because I thought, I don’t know, that somehow it would be better if it was me. Someone was going to find a way in and if anyone from Tevinter was going to be around while mages here decided their future, I thought maybe I would do less damage than some.”

“Then I’ve got no problem with you. But I wanna know- your men have any idea about you? Not the little ones. I know it’s not widespread information or there’s no way I wouldn’t have heard going in. But the others, the ones you have with you now for example, they know?”

“Cassandra does. A few others at the top. No one else.”

“You’re going to tell them.”

“Or what, you will?”

“No. But those are your men.” Bull put his hands on Lucien’s shoulders. Lucien sank slightly into the wet ground under the weight. “If you’re really so good as you claim, you won’t hide the kind of thing that could hurt them.”

Lucien ground his teeth. As if it was as simple as all that. There were far too many reasons it would be a disaster. The Inquisition was only starting to find wider support. If the truth of his identity became common knowledge, that could all crumble away. The Chantry had just begun softening its whole heretic stance. They’d double back down on it if they knew he was from Tevinter. And Orlais? Far better they think him some uncultured, backwater noble. But he still wanted to tell. It was lonely and isolating to live that way. People who might be friends were kept at arm’s length because they didn’t know who he really was.

“I’ll tell them,” he assured.

“Good. Now that that’s settled, how about it? Are the Chargers in or not?”

“Even assuming I actually want you... you want to join? Even knowing the Herald is a Vint?”

“Sure. Look, whatever happened at that Conclave thing is bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So, whatever I am- whatever you are- I’m on your side,” Bull said. “The Ben Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben Hassrath agents from all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

“What would you send home in these reports of yours?”

“Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that will compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone. And word’s bound to get back that a Vint is the figurehead of the Inquisition. Maybe you’re not in charge, but you’re the face. Send me away and another agent will end up infiltrating your operation eventually. I promise you they won’t be saying anything so favorable.”

“You run the reports past Leliana before sending them. You send nothing she doesn’t approve. If this turns out to be a trick, or your reports compromise the Inquisition, Cassandra will eat you alive.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Bull retrieved his battleaxe and slung it over his shoulder. “Krem! Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired.”

“What about the casks, Chief?” the lieutenant called back. “We just opened them up _with axes_.”

“Find some way to seal ‘em. You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes and shook his head. _Think positively_. From there on out he was going to take some initiative. He’d find a way to reveal the truth about who he was and deal with whatever came after. But first, he’d do what he’d wanted to do since his trip to Val Royeaux- he was going to stop at Redcliffe on the way back to Haven. He was going to talk to the mages.


	7. Tevinter Troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of reused and edited game dialogue. I'd rather avoid it but this was all stuff I felt I couldn't skip.

Lucien could remember it with perfect clarity though years had passed since- dust motes sparkled in the air around Dorian as he paced through the library. His face was alight with excitement and his hands swept around him in wide, animated gestures. Words tumbled too fast from his mouth while he tried to explain his latest experiments with Alexius. He had Lucien’s rapt attention. Dorian was never more entrancing than when he was chasing down new magical theory.

And he thought that was all it was supposed to be, theory. Purely academic speculation. Problem being, the pockets of temporal distortion at present didn’t look so theoretical. The proof was right before Lucien’s eyes. Sera hung in the air, trapped mid jump, as she dodged out of reach of a shade. The demon itself had already been slain but the elf moved as though surrounded by thick, soupy water.

“The Rift!” Cassandra shouted.

“Of course,” Lucien replied vaguely.

He held up his hand and let his mark do the work as usual. He was too preoccupied thinking of past conversations and current possibilities to concentrate properly, trapped in a temporal slip of his own making. The distortions vanished along with the Rift. Sera landed gracefully as though nothing had happened. She looked around wildly.

Eyes wide, she said, “ _What_ was that?”

Cassandra shook her head. “We don’t know what these Rifts can do. This one appeared to alter the time around it.”

Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose. It couldn’t be. Even if the Breach had somehow made the impossible possible, the only people who knew how to harness such power were back in Tevinter. There was no one else. He didn’t doubt that there were capable mages amongst the rebels but their capabilities were constrained by what their Circles would allow of them. They couldn’t have anything to do with this. There was something else going on here.

“Something’s not right,” he muttered. He scrubbed his hand down his face. “Stay on your guard.”

The soldier from earlier shouted her thanks and had the gates to the city opened. Lucien held up his hand to make sure the others didn’t get ahead of him. He couldn’t shake a feeling of dread. Sera, still jumpy from before, was more than happy to oblige. She hovered a step behind Cassandra, using the taller woman as a human shield. Blackwall kept his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword.

An Inquisition scout hurried up to them as soon as they passed through the gate, his head held low. “We spread word the Inquisition was coming but you should know that no one here was expecting us.”

“No one?” Lucien asked. That couldn’t be right. True, the stop in Redcliffe had been a bit of a last minute decision, but he’d been sure to send word ahead. It wouldn’t do to startle a city full of nervous apostates. He’d already had an argument with Cassandra over the matter. No need to prove her fears of danger correct by startling the mages. “Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

“If she was, she hasn’t told anyone,” the scout answered. “We’ve arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations.”

Lucien nodded though he felt more lost than ever. It seemed every new piece of information that came in just deepened the mystery. Just then, an elven mage appeared. He bowed his head and then smiled graciously at them all.

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies,” he said. “Magister Alexius is in charge now but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

Lucien barely heard a word after Alexius’ name was spoken. His companions were startled. Confused. Wary. He knew he should say something but his throat was tight and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. He staggered a step and caught himself against the wall.

Alexius? Here? Why hadn’t Fiona mentioned the mages had allied with Tevinter when she’d spoken to them in Orlais? That seemed like the kind of thing you mentioned. Even if she’d been afraid to say it outright, surely she could have hinted. Had he known… He still would have come. If anything, his conviction would have been strengthened. But he would have prepared. Walking in blindly to something like this was dangerous, as Cassandra was more than happy to demonstrate.

The Seeker grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back outside the walls. “What is this?” she hissed. “A trap?”

“I don’t know. I’m just as confused as you are. More, probably.”

He cringed as her eyes bore into him. “You know something. You might not have expected this, but that name was familiar to you. I could see it in your face.”

“I do know Alexius,” he admitted. “Not as well as some, but he is a good man. I was on friendly terms with his son and he mentored another friend of mine. They worked together on magic similar to what we just saw around that Rift. But I thought it was all theoretical. I don’t know how he’s got it working or what he’s doing here.”

“That was the Magister’s doing?”

“I think so. I don’t know. Like I said, as far as I know, none of this should actually be possible.”

Blackwall’s voice sounded from behind the two of them. “Is there a problem?”

Cassandra released her grip on Lucien. She looked at Blackwall and Sera then turned back to Lucien with a scowl. He waited a beat for the ax to fall but what she said surprised him. “I believe you should tell them.”

Not the way he would have chosen for the truth to come out but he was backed into a corner. There was a small chance Alexius might not recognize him but if Felix was at his side, his cover would be blown. Better for them to hear it from him.

He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “I don’t know exactly how to say this, but you deserve to know. And I think you should hear it from me before we go in there and you hear it from someone else. Only, no matter how I’ve thought about it, I’ve never been able to find the right words.”

“So just say it already,” Sera interjected.

“Right. I’m not exactly who everyone thinks I am. I mean, I am. I hope. I’m just not from Ostwick.” Lucien scratched the back of his neck. He drew in a deep breath and released it with a shaky sigh. “I’m from Tevinter.”

“You’re what now?” Sera said. “That make you a magister too, then? You in on all this?”

Lucien could practically hear Dorian groaning about barbarians. “No and no. Just a mage. From Tevinter.”

Blackwall turned to Cassandra. “You knew about this?”

“I did,” she replied.

Blackwall nodded. His shoulders eased slightly at the confirmation. He crossed his arms and looked back at Lucien. He didn’t appear pleased but he said, “You’ve acted honorably as far as I’ve seen. Should that remain the case, I don’t see that your past matters.”

“Very gracious of you. Trust a Warden to believe in fresh starts.” The half-hearted attempt at levity fell flat. Blackwall’s smile was tight and the silence that accompanied it, uncomfortable. For that matter, uncomfortable neatly summed up the general mood at the moment. Lucien fiddled with one of his coat’s buckles. “Well, I’m sure you have questions and I’d be happy to answer when we get back to Haven, since I’ll need to tell the others anyway. For now, we’ve got a Grand Enchanter to question.”

He strode back into Redcliffe and tried to ignore the feel of his companions’ eyes on his back. He didn’t like dropping something like that and just moving on, but he couldn’t let the situation with Alexius hang over him any longer. He couldn’t breathe easily until he knew exactly what was going on.

The mood in Redcliffe did nothing to ease his anxiety. Tension was thick in the air. He was sure some of it had to do with ongoing troubles with the Templars but something else was bubbling just below the surface. People were nervous. He could see Cassandra stiffen at his side in response. If she felt she needed to, he could tell she could have her sword and shield in hand in the blink of an eye. Sera was back to skittering about behind the Seeker, though she kept a bit further to the side from Lucien.

The mages crowded thickest about the tavern. Word of the Inquisition’s arrival had spread quickly and it seemed they were all just as eager to hear how the Inquisition would react as Lucien was to find out just what they were waiting for him to react to. When he entered into the Gull and Lantern, a dark haired elven woman approached him. She was guarded, her posture every bit as stiff as Cassandra’s.

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” she said. She had a proud bearing that shone through her voice regardless of her discomfort. Lucien returned her greeting with a respectful dip of his head. He tried to keep himself loose, nonthreatening. She eyed his deference with open suspicion. “What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

Lucien was in no mood to indulge games. “We’re here because you invited us in Val Royeaux. Apparently things have changed, if your man at the gate is to be believed. Why is a Magister here?”

“You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave. I suppose it could be magic at work, but why would anyone…” Confusion clouded Fiona’s gaze. She shook her head. “Whoever or whatever brought you here, the situation had indeed changed. The free mages have pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium. We had to, to save ourselves.”

Cassandra’s expression soured further. Given the Inquisition’s own predicament, she had little ground to stand on and that made her unhappier about the whole situation. Fiona was confused by the lack of resistance or outrage to her announcement. She eyed them all, challenging them to question her choice. Instead, Lucien said, “Believe me when I say the Inquisition is sympathetic to the difficult decision you had to make. These are dire times. Those looking to survive may find themselves with unusual bedfellows. But surely you can still aid us?"

Fiona’s shoulders sank. “As one indentured to a Magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

Indentured? Alexius had let it come to that? None of it made sense. Lucien kept hoping for things to click into place and instead he became more and more confused. He found himself wishing he knew how to manipulate time because what he had left was gone. The door to the tavern opened, spilling daylight into the heavily shadowed tavern. The moment had come. Lucien tensed. His heart pounded a nervous rhythm in his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to turn as boots creaked across the wooden floor behind him. Alexius’ voice boomed confidently over Lucien’s shoulder.

“Welcome my friends,” the Magister said. “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

Fiona melted further into a dark corner. “Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

“The southern mages are under my command.” Alexius circled around to get a better look at his guests. He surveyed the others with bland disinterest but when he saw Lucien, his eyes widened in quickly covered surprise. “It would seem that introductions are unnecessary. When I heard your name in whispered rumors, I thought it must be a coincidence. But here you,” he laughed. There was a glint in his eyes that Lucien wasn’t sure he liked. Alexius’ lips curled into a sly smile. “And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting.”

Of the two people at Alexius’ elbows, it was difficult to tell which looked more startled. Felix did his best to mask it quickly but Lucien could practically hear him thinking. Of what, Lucien couldn’t guess. Fiona didn’t leave her thoughts up to question. She looked back and forth between Lucien and Alexius. “You know each other already?”

“We do,” Lucien said quickly. Every mage in the tavern was looking at him. He’d rather not start his dealings with them thinking he was hiding something. “Although Alexius is probably more familiar with my mother, what with both of them being members of the Magisterium.”

He kept his tone open and conversational, for all the good it did. It didn’t take long for everyone to put together all the information he’d just dropped. A wave of whispers broke out and rippled through the room. Lucien suddenly wished he’d insisted on a bit more privacy for the negotiations. This news wasn’t going to stay in Redcliffe long. The Inquisition would need to stay one step ahead in order to run damage control. He’d have to let Cassandra handle that. While all eyes were firmly anchored on him, she left the tavern, no doubt to find one of the scouts.

Lucien did his best to remain unruffled by it all. “I don’t understand, Alexius. Why take the rebel mages under your wing?”

“You were at the Conclave. I should think you would understand better than any what interest the Imperium has in the rebellion.”

“It was a historic event. I had hoped to observe. Help, if I thought I could.”

“Then we are of one mind. I offered them protection. A way forward. As you well know, our southern brethren have no legal status in the Imperium. For the moment, the southern mages are a considerable expense. After they are properly trained, they will join our legion.”

Fiona stepped forward in protest. “You said not all my people would be military! There are children, those not suited-”

“And one day I’m sure they’ll all be productive citizens of the Imperium,” Alexius answered coolly. “When their debts are paid.”

Lucien crossed his arms. He didn’t like any of this. Time magic, indentured mages- he could see most of the pieces but he couldn’t put them together into a picture that made any sense. It was obvious that Alexius had gone through a lot of trouble to set this all up. Yet none of it fit the man Lucien thought he knew. He’d have to let this play out and see if he could find that final missing piece.

“I need the mages to seal the Breach and it seems you now control them. So let’s see if we can come to an agreement, shall we?”

“Indeed. It is a pleasure to see you are still a reasonable man.” Alexius gestured to a table near the corner of the room. The mages who pressed close to listen to every word of the negotiations, parted nervously before the two Tevinters. “Felix, would you send for a scribe, please? Pardon my manners. You remember my son Felix?”

“Of course,” Lucien said. “It’s good to see you, Felix.”

Felix bowed and offered a thin smile. “And you. I’m sure I’m not the only one who will be happy to hear that you are well.”

With that, he was gone. There was something in his voice that made Lucien’s heart catch in his throat. Thankfully Alexius didn’t notice for he had already started speaking again. “I’m not surprised you’re here. Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages will be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed. I would expect no less from Valeria’s eldest.”

Lucien leaned back in his seat and draped one of his arms over the back of the chair. “Well, when you’re fighting a massive tear in the sky, you can hardly afford to think small.”

“There will have to be-”

Alexius stopped short. Lucien traced his line of sight and spotted Felix staggering toward them. He jumped to his feet and held out his arms to stabilize the younger man, only to end up catching him instead. Lucien did his best to keep his face impassive when a piece of paper was pressed into his palm. He wrapped his fingers around it and covered the movement by giving Felix a hand up.

“Felix,” Alexius gasped.

He looked stricken. For the first time Lucien spied something of the man he’d once known. Felix wobbled back a few steps and tried to stand on his own.

“I’m sorry, Lucien,” he said. “Forgive my clumsiness.”

Alexius hovered nervously. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, father.”

Felix nodded but the way he swayed as a result robbed the statement of all truth. Alexius took him by the elbow and started to guide him out of the tavern. “Come, I’ll get your powders,” he said. “Please excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time. Fiona, I require your assistance back at the castle.”

“I don’t mean to trouble everyone,” Felix mumbled.

Alexius waved them all off, his interest in them spent the moment Felix fell ill. “I shall send word to the Inquisition. We will conclude this business at a later date.”

Lucien waited until they were all the way outside before he unfolded the note still gripped tightly in his palm. He saw the handwriting and for an instant forgot to breath. He knew the hand that penned the note and it wasn’t Felix. It was Dorian. He was so focused on the writing that he at first didn’t realize he hadn’t paid any attention to what was written.

“Come to the Chantry,” he read aloud for the others. “You are in danger.”

“Well, aren’t we secrety,” Sera chirped.

“Perhaps I should go alone,” Lucien suggested, thinking of Dorian waiting for him in the Chantry. “If this is a trap, there’s no reason to pull the rest of you into it with me.”

“I do not believe Lady Cassandra would approve,” Blackwall said.

“What precisely wouldn’t I approve of?” Cassandra asked, of course choosing that moment to make her reappearance.

“Our Herald here wants to have a secret Tevinter rendezvous,” Sera replied.

Sera couldn’t know the image she conjured in Lucien’s mind, which had nothing to do with covert deals or betrayal. A fire burned a path across his cheeks and up to his ears. He did his best to ignore the feeling while he handed off the note to Cassandra. “Felix passed me this message warning of danger. A warning which may itself be a trap, so I thought perhaps I should spare you all the trouble and go alone, seeing as I’m the one in danger.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll risk it,” she said flatly.

They marched out of the tavern together, through throngs of whispering mages. Lucien didn’t have the mind to wonder how far his secret had already spread or what he would find waiting for him when he returned to Haven. He barely noticed a single step of the brief journey to the village Chantry. There were answers behind the tall wooden doors. More importantly, there was a friend, the bit of home he missed most. He stepped across the threshold with a bracing breath and one final determined step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after all that I still didn't get to Dorian like I wanted to. This chapter went on longer than I originally intended because of all the extra content I realized I really had to address. So the next chapter will likely be devoted entirely to that meeting.


	8. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit more game dialogue mixed in. This should be the last chapter it's needed, at least in this quantity.

Lucien’s first thought as he stepped through the Chantry doors was that the Iron Bull had been completely right, his countrymen were a bunch of show offs when they fought. The second was less a coherent thought and more a sharp pang in his chest. He hadn’t realized just how intensely he’d longed to see Dorian again until the man was right there before his eyes.

He watched as Dorian spun gracefully out of reach of a Shade before bashing the creature roughly with his staff. Lucien stopped so abruptly at the sight that his companions crashed into his back. The chorus of curses that followed caught Dorian’s attention. He killed the last of the demons around him and then flashed his brightest smile.

“Good! You’re finally here. Now help me close this, would you?”

His smile vanished and his voice dropped on the final word as he finally realized just who ‘you’ was. His expression was mercurial. He looked at Lucien with those liquid grey eyes, as expressive as ever of everything he tried to hide away. One moment he appeared overjoyed, the next like he was faced with a ghost. Neither could find the right thing to say and so Sera found the words instead.

“ _Demons_ ,” she shouted. She loosed an arrow which whistled past Lucien’s ear and buried itself in a Terror’s neck. “Remember?”

“Right,” Lucien coughed.

Soon the small Chantry was a flurry of spells, arrows, and clanging swords. All the while, the Rift crackled in the air, sending distorted shadows into the dusty alcoves. It was a difficult fight. If it wasn’t enough to try to battle demons while navigating such close quarters, one misstep could mean a disorienting tumble through time. The wretched conditions made everyone fight all the harder. The final demon was felled in short order and Lucien threw his hand up to seal the tear in the Veil.

Dorian watched the entire thing with open curiosity. Such an intriguing magical riddle temporarily pushed everything else aside. His fingers twitched with a barely contained desire to grab Lucien’s hand for a closer look. “Fascinating. How does that work, exactly? Do you know?”

“There was some fear it might kill me. Still is, I suppose, with the Breach. So I’ve tried not to think about it too much, actually.”

“Last I’d heard, you _had_ been killed,” Dorian replied. There was a rawness to his voice that he couldn’t quite cover. His features darkened for a moment before he fixed his smile back in place. “Well, you look good for a dead man, at any rate.”

Lucien’s stomach lurched. “I’d hoped stories of my survival would have traveled north. Or I at least figured Felix might have mentioned something.”

“Ah, well, you know me. Ever the pariah. I suppose no one thought to tell me. Then again, I was doing a rather good job of not being found, even if someone was looking. As for Felix, I didn’t exactly give him time for such a revelation. I didn’t want him away too long lest he arouse suspicion. Had I known he held such earth shattering news, I might not have been so hasty.”

Lucien had known Dorian for enough years to know that he only talked so quickly when he wanted to cover something else up. He piled the words up, one after another, until he felt he could safely hide behind them. There was a chance Lucien could get through that wall if they were alone. Unfortunately, as Cassandra was quick to remind him, they were not.

“What is this about?” she demanded.

“Cassandra, this is Dorian Pavus,” Lucien said. “He’s the one who sent the note.”

Dorian inclined his head toward Lucien’s companions. “Maker knows how marvelously skilled you are at finding trouble. Someone had to warn you.”

“He’s the friend I mentioned before,” Lucien continued. “The one who apprenticed with Alexius. And I believe what this is about is the time magic the two of them worked on. Time magic Alexius used to arrive here just after the Divine died and grab the mages out from under us.”

Dorian grinned proudly. “Right you are. It’s good to see your time south hasn’t dulled you horribly.”

Lucien grinned back. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his staff. “But I thought it was all theoretical. Has he really gained enough control to do something like that?”

“It was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. I wouldn’t say he’s gotten it under control. The Rift you closed here? Soon, there will be more like it. They’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. It’s wildly unstable magic and it’s unraveling the world.”

Sera’s eyes went wide. She looked at Lucien and then Cassandra. “You don’t believe this do you? It’s daft.”

Dorian held up his chin defiantly. “I know what I’m talking about,” he huffed. “I helped develop this magic. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it, ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackies?”

“He didn’t do it for them.”

All eyes moved to land on Felix as he joined them in the heart of the Chantry. Dorian’s face lit up. “Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day,” Felix replied with a grimace. “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. You might have heard of them. They call themselves Venatori. I love my father and I love my country, but this? Cults? Time magic? What he’s doing now is madness. For his own sake, you have to stop him.”

“It would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time,” Dorian said dryly. “There’s already a hole in the sky.”

Felix turned to face Lucien. “And I can tell you one thing, whatever he’s done for these Venatori, he’s done it to get to you.”

Lucien started. “Me? Why rearrange time and indenture the mage rebellion just to get to me? I suppose he could try to find a way to use me against my mother in order to get another vote in the magisterium for whatever it is he’d trying to do. But that’s a long way to go for a vote and my mother isn’t so easily swayed. It also didn’t seem like he knew my identity until today.”

“They’re obsessed with you,” Felix replied, “but I don’t know why. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

Dorian shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He cocked his head at Lucien, examining him, and tapped his chin “You can close the Rifts. Maybe there’s a connection. Or they see you as a threat?”

“If the Venatori are behind those Rifts or the Breach in the sky, they’re even worse than I thought.” Felix sighed. The sun broke low through the stained glass windows. “I had better get back to the castle before my father notices I’m gone.”

The young man started toward the exit but Dorian called after him before he could leave. “Felix? Try not to get yourself killed.”

Felix stopped, his hand on the door and his head hung low. “There are worse things than dying, Dorian.”

Just like that, he was gone. His parting words were uttered so quietly that Lucien wasn’t even sure Dorian had heard. In fact, the other mage was in the middle of enacting his own escape. He was already halfway to the smaller back exit. Before he disappeared completely, he paused to offer Lucien a few parting words.

“You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.”

“Dorian wait,” Lucien said. “Why not come back with us to Haven? It’s got to be better than skulking around here.”

“Perhaps, but I’m needed here. If Alexius grows desperate and tries anything more, I’m the only one with a chance to stop it. There’s also a chance I could find out what he has planned for you.”

“Can’t you just…” Lucien ran his hand through his hair and tugged lightly at the tips in frustration. He couldn’t let Dorian slip away again before they’d had a chance at an actual conversation. “Just stay and talk for a moment. We can have a moment, right Cassandra?”

The Seeker narrowed her eyes. It was clear she didn’t like being put on the spot that way. After the day they’d had, he fully expected her to deny his request but he had to try. She pulled at a chain around her neck. Lucien instantly flashed back to the scene in the dungeon all those weeks ago with his birthright amulet. There were no snakes at the end of Cassandra’s chain but it was every bit as tied to Lucien. What she held out before him now was his phylactery.

“We will ask questions in the village to see what else we can learn of this alliance. Do not try to slip away before we return, Tevinter.”

Message delivered, she tucked the glowing vial back under her breastplate and turned on her heel to leave. The others followed after. Lucien frowned. He’d gotten what he wanted but he didn’t like how sharp Cassandra’s tone had been nor the fact that she hadn’t used his name. Over the time they’d spent fighting at each other’s side, they’d slowly built up something resembling, if not friendship, than at least a sort of amicable understanding. After today, he was back to being just another Tevinter.

He’d worry about that later. For the time being, he was just happy Dorian had stuck around.

“What suspicious friends you have,” Dorian said. He craned his neck to watch the others go. “What was that, exactly? It was magic. I could tell that much. However, as a rule one generally doesn’t brandish dangerous magical amulets in such an obvious manner. Best delivered in the guise of a fine gift so that the recipient actually puts it on. Though, who would wear such a thing, I can’t imagine.”

“It is magic,” Lucien explained. He cringed inwardly, suspecting how well the full explanation was going to go over. “Blood magic, meant to track me. It’s how they track their mages here in the southern Circles. I agreed to it in order to keep myself from the dungeons.”

The color drained from Dorian’s face. A hidden pain flashed like lightning through his eyes. This was more than just a distaste for blood magic, which he’d long had, and more than the revelation about the phylactery. Lucien reached out to him. Dorian turned the table by reversing the grip and taking a hold of Lucien’s hand. Any intention Lucien might have had of prying was skillfully pushed from his mind by Dorian’s thumb as it traced the sensitive skin on the edge of the mark.

“You look dreadful and you smell like dog,” Dorian intoned softly.

Lucien chuckled. “It’s good to see you again, too, Dorian.”

“Of course it is. You’ve been living amongst barbarians. By comparison, I must look like I’ve descended from the Maker’s side.”

“You do. And you can trust that’s no mere flattery because I’m quite the authority on that now.”

“So I’ve heard. Tell me, whatever happened to this brief, safe trip you were going to embark on?” Dorian asked, a smile in his voice that only served to make his overall melancholy sharper by contrast. “I thought you were dead. But, no, I should have known you excel at the absurd. Why settle for simply dying in an explosion when you could survive to become some blasphemous religious figurehead bound by blood magic? Oh, and how could I have forgotten, you’ve done it all thanks to the bright, shining gift of the Maker on your hand.”

Lucien swallowed over stuttering breaths. “Trust me, I’m having a very hard time forgetting about that mark at the moment.”

“No. The Herald of Andraste saying such things? And in a Chantry? Will the scandals never cease,” Dorian gasped, though Lucien noted he didn’t stop his supposedly scandalous ministrations.

“Well, if I’m going to be burned at the stake anyway, I might as well add more fuel to the fire.”

Lucien leaned forward and claimed the kiss he’d been dreaming of for weeks. Only this was infinitely better because Dorian was actually there and lighting up Lucien’s nerves in ways that promised something far more salacious if it continued. Rather than risk his companions stumbling in on such a compromising situation, he freed his hand and twined his fingers behind Dorian’s neck to deepen the kiss instead.

Dorian pushed Lucien into one of the shadowed alcoves and pinned him to the wall. All the longing, sorrow, and fear that had built up since they’d parted was devoured by hungry, desperate lips. Lucien moaned, trapped between the cold, hard wall and Dorian’s warm weight. He moved his head to gasp for breath when his nose could no longer draw in enough air. Dorian moved his attention to Lucien’s neck and settled above his increasingly incessant pulse, which beat out a reassuring testament to his survival.

Up close, Lucien noted he wasn’t the only one to have taken a bit of a hit to personal grooming of late. Dorian’s generally smooth face was dusted with coarse stubble. Dust clung to his collar. His usual scent was masked by a whisper of pine, earth, and grass that made Lucien wonder just where his friend had been hiding himself recently to evade Alexius’ notice.

It made Lucien wish all the more that he could convince Dorian to come back to Haven. Yet, even if he could, he knew he couldn’t ensure a warm welcome for his fellow Tevinter. As it was, he was loathe to consider how they would greet their Herald now that his secret was out. So instead of an invitation, he took Dorian by the shoulders to gently part them and offered a plea.

“Please, whatever happens, be careful Dorian.”

Dorian laughed derisively. He took a step back, breaking all contact between them. “This coming from you? I said I’d kill you if you died and I still have half a mind to make good on that promise now that you managed to survive. Do you have any idea what it was like to hear about what happened at the Conclave?”

Lucien’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Dorian. If there was any way I could have sent word, I would have.”

“No need to convince me that your hands were tied. Given that they apparently know you’re Tevinter, I’m sure that was quite literally true. Maker. You’re lucky to be alive now and not just because you somehow survived being blown up. Maybe it’s better I thought you dead. The things they might have done to you…”

Lucien winced as the memory of the lyrium brand appeared involuntarily at the forefront of his mind. Dorian noticed the movement and narrowed his eyes. Lucien couldn’t tell him. Not now. He would have to eventually. He couldn’t keep something like that a secret forever but if they were going to be parted again soon, he couldn’t leave Dorian with that in his head.

“It wasn’t an easy start but I’m fine now,” Lucien assured. Dorian clicked his tongue. “I am. Just help me get these mages out of Alexius’ grasp so I can close the Breach and I’m sure everything else will sort itself out.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“That’s all.”

“Fine. But if you get yourself killed again, this time do tell Andraste she can keep you. You swore to me you would be safe, if you’ll recall. And, lest you even consider forgetting-”

He lifted Lucien’s hand and kissed the mark softly. Lucien’s eyes fluttered closed as a jolt of sensation jumped down his spine and he felt Dorian’s lips form into a smile. By the time Lucien could bring himself to open his eyes, Dorian was gone. Gone but most certainly not forgotten. If anything, he’d ensured Lucien would remember little else for the foreseeable future.


	9. For Better or Worse

Lucien was sure news over his identity could have gone over worse. He wasn’t sure how, but he liked to consider himself an optimist. So when he rode back into Haven to a sea of icy eyes, he turned that conviction into a mantra. When Harritt spat on his boot instead of mending the tear in its sole, it could have been worse. When a near frantic Josephine informed him he’d need to prepare to meet with half a dozen furious noble families who were demanding a personal meeting with the Herald, it could have been worse. When the resident Chantry sisters took to sermonizing at all hours about the grave evils the Magisters brought down upon the world, it could have been worse.

Or that’s what he would have told himself if he could think of anything other than that magic was meant to serve man, and never to rule over him. He was sorely tempted to remind them that he could hear the same verse back in Tevinter with a very different interpretation, but he had no desire to further provoke them or anyone else for that matter. Life had hardly been idyllic before, however it was leagues better than his current situation.

The suspicious stares, the scandalized whispers- it was like a little slice of home transported to the middle of the Frostback Mountains. Only, unlike home, the food was atrocious, the weather worse, and he didn’t have any friends to turn to when it all got to be too much. Those few here that he had been close to calling friends had grown distant. He looked to the tavern for a break. Instead he found Bull.

The Qunari wrapped his arm around Lucien’s shoulders and pulled him in to talk when he tried to veer off in the opposite direction. “What brings you by, Vint?”

Lucien wrinkled his nose. He tried to pry himself free of the hulking mercenary’s grip but, while he might have been a strong man, the Qunari wasn’t called Iron Bull for nothing. Lucien slouched in resignation. “I came to be alone,” he said pointedly. “So if you don’t mind...”

“Oh I don’t mind,” Bull replied, purposely missing the point. “Boys and I are just here for a bite to eat. Say hello boys.”

The Chargers cheered as one. The sound filled the small building and made Lucien cringe. “I didn’t ask.”

“Course you didn’t. I was trying to give you a helpful example of what normal people might be here to do.” Bull pulled out a pair of chairs at an empty table and brought Lucien down into one when he was seated. “You, on the other hand, I’d say are here to sulk alone in the darkest corner you can find. You’ll stare at that hand of yours a bit, maybe eat and drink, though not enough to get drunk and at least make the trip worthwhile. Then, when it’s late enough that you’re faced with the prospect of sleeping with your head on a filthy table, you’ll finally crawl back to your room.”

“How did you- nevermind. Some Ben Hassrath trick, right?” Lucien’s fingers curled unconsciously over the mark. Contact with the sensitive skin there sent a tingling reminder of why he’d been so focused on it recently. Just one of a million things he had no interest in discussing with Bull of all people.

“Yeah. Special trick called, you’re not invisible and I’ve seen you do it the last two days. So what’s eating you?”

“I’m here because people _usually_ leave me alone here. I can’t even go back to my room without having to listen to verses of the Chant droned on for hours at end. I think Mother Giselle set up some sort of rotation. You know what the first thing was that I heard this morning? ‘No matter their power, their triumphs, the mage-lords of Tevinter were men and doomed to die.’ Really set the mood for the day.”

Laughter rumbled up from Bull’s chest and he gave Lucien a sympathetic slap to the back. Lucien must have been hungry for company because he still ended up rambling off everything that was troubling him. To his credit, Bull seemed to really listen. Though it was hard to tell what he heard given what he said next.

“See. Told you it would be best if you let everyone in on your little secret.”

Lucien furrowed his brow. “What part of this sounds good to you?”

“There’s the part where I assured the Qunari you were just a run of the mill Vint, stumbling into magical shit he doesn’t understand and not some spy set on taking the south for Tevinter. You coming clean proved me right and probably saved you an invasion.”

“There’s that,” Lucien drawled, ignoring the dig at both him and his countrymen.

“Look, from what I’ve heard, everyone hated you when you first tumbled out of the Fade. They got over it. You manage to get everyone’s respect this time, you get to keep it because it’ll be based off what you did, not some pretty picture you painted.”

Lucien didn’t want to admit it but Bull had a point. It was better this way. Or it would be. Eventually. “You want to talk about fresh starts, every time I see Blackwall now, he starts mumbling something about second chances and shuffles off. I’m starting to think he’s considering conscription. And then there’s Varric who looks like he’s busy recasting me in whatever story he’s got spinning around his head.”

“You tried actually talking to anyone? Or you just been avoiding everyone so they don’t get a chance to avoid you?” Bull laughed again when Lucien’s only response was a frown. “Figured as much. Lucky you, here’s a chance to fix that.”

Sera had just entered the tavern. She looked puzzled and the tiniest bit alarmed at all the attention directed her way. Bull dismissed himself to rejoin the Chargers, freeing up a chair. Sera edged in warily and perched at the edge of the seat. She cocked her head at Lucien.

“What’s he on about?” she asked, jerking her head toward the Qunari.

“It’s nothing.” Lucien shook his head. “Buy you a drink?”

“You have to ask?”

“Well…”

Sera rolled her eyes. She threw her feet up on the table and leaned back in her chair. “Look, you’re fine by me, alright? Knew you were big from the start, so not like that’s changed. Just don’t get all Tevinter on me, yeah? No busting out in demons or blood magic or any of that rubbish. Don’t go shoving your magic where it’s not wanted and we’ll be just fine.”

Lucien coughed into his hand to cover laughter. “I think I can manage that.”

“Good. So where’s that drink?”

Sera had little patience for moping and even less for dwelling on past wrongs, so that was the last they talked on that. They didn’t dwell on the end of the world or time magic or secret identities. Instead they talked about nothing. It was the sort of idle chatter that made it easy to lose track of time and forget the pressing problems of the world. Sera tried to rope Lucien into helping her steal some of the cakes Josephine held in reserve for visiting nobles. Lucien mentioned a particular species of bee from Tevinter kept for pollinating the extravagant gardens held by Magisters which, while not particularly dangerous, made a terrific amount of noise when upset and so might make a good addition to her nefarious jars of bees.

By the end of it all, Lucien was feeling quite a bit better. He had to admit he was grateful to Bull, not just for helping to knock him out of a rut but for giving him an idea of how to move forward. He had been determined to help the rebel mages if he could and Dorian’s appearance in Redcliffe had cemented that resolve. However, the fallout from his true identity being revealed to the world had made it nearly impossible to continue down that road.

The Inquisition was in sore need of allies. Those allies were much harder to find and keep now that the Herald of Andraste was a known Tevinter. He might not have been the leader of the Inquisition but many had turned him into a symbol for the organization. He was the hero chosen by the Maker’s bride to save the world. The truth had shaken the faith of those few who had been able to look past him being a mage. The idea that Andraste would choose the son of a Magister, whom many wrongly assumed to be a Magister himself, was altogether beyond belief. And for those who cared little for the religious ramifications, there was still the undeniable political pitfall. Tevinter didn’t have friends beyond its borders, especially not in Orlais where the Inquisition had claimed most of its support.

That was the excuse he’d made for hiding in the tavern the past few days. He’d tried to think of some clever speech he could give to smooth things over. Bull’s comments had reminded him that what he really needed were not words but actions. He’d proven himself through action before and he would again. He knew just the way to do it.

First he stole Leliana away as soon as she was finished speaking with one of her scouts. Then he scooped Cassandra out of Roderick’s clutches and grabbed Cullen after the commander had finished diffusing another scuffle between Haven’s mages and Templars. Finally, he lead Josephine out of a meeting with allied nobility, to a chorus of scandalized gasps.

He lead the four of them into the war room and shut the door. He took one of the markers from the map and rolled it lazily between his fingers. Then, quite abruptly, he slammed it back down onto the map. If he hadn’t had everyone’s attention before, he did now.

“I’m going back to Redcliffe to get the mages.”

His pronouncement was met with a number of different arguments all at once.

Josephine stepped forward. She wrung her hands and glanced at the door, clearly visualizing those she’d just left behind. “I understand your desire to recruit the mages and I had hoped myself to call upon their aid. Given recent events, however, such a path may prove disastrous. We do not want to lend any credence to rumors that you are using the Inquisition for Tevinter expansionism. If word got out that Magister Alexius has requested your presence by name-”

“Alexius has been quite insistent about meeting with you,” Leliana agreed. “It would make allying with the mages much simpler, if it did not of course mean he intends to kill you.”

“Which is why I cannot understand why we are even discussing this,” Cullen said. “If we lose Trevelyan, we lose our only chance to seal the Breach. Better all around to get the Templars.”

“We cannot leave Redcliffe in the hands of a Magister,” Cassandra contended.

“Exactly my point,” Lucien said, though Cassandra looked little pleased to find herself on his side in the matter. “If we go to the Templars for aid with the Breach, it may temporarily ease the minds of those who fear I am here to promote mage supremacy or some such nonsense. However, whatever ground the Inquisition might gain from that would be lost altogether by ignoring the Magister on our doorstep. If, on the other hand, I were to liberate the mages from Alexius’ control, we would not only have a very grateful Ferelden but we would also strike a blow against a group of Tevinter extremists.”

“In one move you could secure a means to close the Breach as well as prove that your allegiance lies first with a return to order and not your homeland,” Josephine said. “It is risky but if it worked it could free us of many of our current troubles.”

“Risky is putting it lightly,” Cullen replied. “Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults. I doubt Alexius is simply going to hand over the mages and we don’t have the manpower to take the castle.”

Lucien grinned, undaunted. “I’ll leave you all to figure out the castle but Alexius I can deal with. He has no reason to think I am anything but sympathetic to him. I’m sure he will want to try to win me over to his side or that he would at least believe that I wish to side with him. No matter the case, he wants me. Badly. I’ll use that to hold his full attention.”

Underneath Leliana’s heavy hood, her eyes brightened with understanding. Her fingers drummed along crossed arms. “A distraction. That could work. There is an old escape tunnel that runs from the castle. I could use it to sneak in some of my best agents while you keep Alexius diverted.”

“And we should just trust that you are not sincere in your desire to join this Magister?” Cassandra pressed, eyebrow raised.

Lucien sighed. “Yes? If it truly bothers you, come along. Alexius will not like it but I’m sure I can argue you are merely my attendant. He’s seen you before, so at least you will not be a strange face. However, on the matter of support…” Lucien turned to Leliana. “Can you have one of your men send a message ahead for me? A friend of mine is hidden near the village and his help could prove invaluable. He knows Alexius better than I and he knows what the man is capable of. We need him if this plan is going to work.”

Leliana nodded. The two of them left the war room together. He relayed the message he needed sent to Dorian while she inscribed it. She delivered the encoded missive into the hands of a scout, who disappeared without another word.

With that taken care of, Lucien went to his room to prepare for the road. He barely even noticed the Chanter loitering not far from his door. There was no longer a need to mutter empty oaths about how it could be worse. He was going to make sure it was better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's very timely appearance in Haven never entirely made sense to me, especially if you waited a while before returning to Redcliffe to deal with Alexius. So, given that there were a few days of indecision to deal with, I decided to have them meet up with him instead.


	10. Take Care

Death. Corruption. Lucien saw it wherever he looked. There was Cassandra’s tall, proud frame, broken and shattered at the feet of demons. There Sera, so lost and afraid, her tenacious spirit snuffed out at last by horrors beyond imagining. And Fiona, barely recognizable underneath the layers of red lyrium that grew from her skin and sang a foul song from her veins.

“Herald?”

Lucien blinked. No. Not yet. They were all fine. Fiona was standing before him now, flustered and confused perhaps, but whole and untouched by the corruption of red lyrium. He smiled apologetically.

“Sorry. My mind is elsewhere. What did you say?”

“I said that I wanted to thank you. If, that is, you were truly sincere in your oath to take us on as allies.”

She looked skeptical. He could hardly blame her. He’d made a big show of trying to join Alexius in an attempt to distract him and extract a bit of information. Alexius had believed him. Before Dorian made his appearance, before Leliana’s scouts slew the Venatori and sent Alexius into a panic, he’d been close. He remembered the way Alexius had chuckled when asked if this Elder One was a Magister. Close. Close, he’d said, but so much more.

Lucien still couldn’t fathom Alexius’ meaning, not even after a trip to the future. It had been so hard to think there. Apart from everything horrible that had happened, the Breach had consumed the sky. It was everywhere and his mark had reacted violently. He’d focused on what he needed to do, closed Rift after Rift, and continued through any discomfort, but it clung to him.

He shook his head. He needed to focus. He tucked his marked hand under his arm and did his best to will away the pain.

“I did mean it,” he assured Fiona. “I’m hardly going to make excuses for my countrymen but we’re not all monsters. I couldn’t have done this without Dorian and Felix. For their sake, at least, try to give the Inquisition a chance to prove itself. Help me save the world and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you and the other rebels retain your freedom.”

For the first time since they’d met, Fiona breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed, if only marginally. “We will do everything we can.”

“Excellent. Now, I’d suggest you make sure your people are ready for the road. The sooner we’re out of Redcliffe the better, I’d say.”

With the Grand Enchanter dealt with, Lucien was tempted to find his companions and check in on them. He doubted they’d be happy to see him. He’d been hovering about them since his return from the future and, having not seen what he’d seen, they seemed weary of the attention. So he opted to search for Dorian instead.

He didn’t need to look long. As crowded as things were with all the rebel mages hurrying to evacuate Redcliffe before the king of Ferelden changed his mind, everyone gave the Tevinters a wide berth. This extended to Lucien himself and made it quite simple to wade through the crowds to his old friend.

He paused a few yards away. Dorian looked lost in thought. It wasn’t hard for Lucien to guess what was troubling the other man. The deaths they’d seen in the future had been horrible. Felix and Alexius were like family to Dorian. Better than, in many ways. To see Felix ravaged by the Blight and disposed of like an animal, and to then be forced to help take the life of a beloved mentor, Lucien could hardly imagine how Dorian felt. Still, he knew Dorian wouldn’t thank him for thinking as much. So Lucien announced his arrival and made sure Dorian had time to collect himself.

“Ah, Dorian, there you are,” he called.

Dorian’s entire posture shifted. His back straightened, his head rose, and a tight smile banished the wistfulness on his face. He faced Lucien and sighed with mock despair. “To think you could lose sight of me amongst this rabble. You wound me.”

Lucien chuckled and then craned his neck. “Is Felix not with you?”

“Already on his way back to Tevinter, I’m afraid.”

“So soon? I was hoping to thank him.”

“I’m sure he got the message when you made sure he wasn’t carted off along with Alexius. In fact, he swore he’d not only deliver news of your success here to your mother but to the entire Magisterium. He thinks you’re the sort of example Tevinter needs to make sure there aren’t more that follow in his father’s footsteps.”

“You’re the ones they should be looking at. Felix stood against his own father to do what was right. And you, I wouldn’t even exist if you hadn't been there to counter Alexius’ spell.”

“It’s no wonder you need divine intervention to keep your life. The trouble you get yourself into, where would you be without someone swooping in to save you every step of the way? Do you think they’ll start calling you the Herald of Dorian now as well?”

“I’m serious Dorian. And you didn’t just save me, you saved the entire world when you figured out how to send us back.”

Whatever sarcastic remark Dorian had thought to make about that died on his tongue. He set to smoothing the wrinkles from his cloak, his eyes focused everywhere but on Lucien’s face. Lucien cursed the life that had made it easier for the two of them to talk in wide, swooping circles all day than to express even a moment of earnest appreciation.

Dorian offered what sincerity he could in the form of a smile that warmed his eyes. “I suppose it’s fortunate you’ll have me around to keep watching your back, since it seems you only had a one time deal with Andraste.”

“Then you’re staying? I mean, I had hoped but...”

“We both saw what could happen- what this Elder One and his cult are trying to do. I can’t go back. Not if there’s anything I can do to keep our homeland from cutting off its own feet again. It’s my duty to stand with you. That future will not come to pass.”

With his staff held firmly in hand and his chin held high, Dorian was like one of the many towering statues that lined the wide avenues of Minrathous in memory of the figures who had raised the Imperium to glory. Lucien could only imagine how he must have been looking at Dorian given how a subtle flush colored other man’s cheeks. “If Felix can get the Magisterium to look at him the way you’re looking at me now, then Tevinter might actually have a chance at change.”

Lucien rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, drink it up while you can. I can guarantee you won’t get anything like it back at Haven.”

Dorian shrugged. “It’s not as though I was basking in the warm glow of acceptance back home. We can’t all be the blessed Herald of Andraste.”

“That’s probably for the best, actually. Maybe they’ll suspect you of being a spy but they actually knew I was one and they thought I murdered the Divine. That certainly made for a fun reception.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. They danced across Lucien’s face and then drifted down to the hand still tucked protectively under his arm. Dorian spared one final glance for the bustling crowds around them before taking Lucien’s free hand and guiding him out of the village. He didn’t stop until he’d found a bit of privacy in the form of a crumbling tower on a cliff’s edge.

“What are you doing?” Lucien asked. “We need to leave soon.”

Dorian ignored him. He instead crinkled his nose as he used the end of his staff to clear assorted detritus from a large chunk of masonry. Once the stone was relatively clean, he gestured at it. “We’re not going anywhere before you’ve had a chance to rest. Now sit.”

“I’m fine,” Lucien protested.

“What you are is a terrible liar. Now sit and let me have a look at that hand. Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

Lucien complied. It did feel better to be off his feet. He groaned as pressure lifted from weary joints. Dorian smiled smugly down at him before crouching in the grass so that he was level with Lucien’s outstretched hand.

“I don’t know what you think you can do. You can do a great many things, Dorian, but you know as well as I that you have no talent for healing.”

“It’s hardly that I don’t have the talent for it. I’m sure if I ever bothered to pick up the skill, I would master it like I do everything else,” Dorian scoffed. “And in case you’ve forgotten so soon, these fingers are capable of many types of magic.”

He wiggled the digits before Lucien’s eyes before setting them to work on his arm. Lucien had to grind his teeth to prevent another groan from escaping his lips as Dorian kneaded the tender flesh of his marked hand and up his arm. Tense muscles unwound as if on command. Pleasure mixed with pain and took the edge away from it. Lucien melted back against the tower’s wall as Dorian put the healers of Thedas to shame.

Dorian removed one of his hands to retrieve a lyrium potion from his belt. He popped out the cork with his teeth, releasing the sharp, fresh fragrance of ozone into the air. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. His voice was slightly husky as he prompted Lucien to drink, which Lucien did readily. He emptied the contents with a gulp and hummed out his appreciation as he set the empty bottle aside. It rolled to the ground with a soft clink.

“Ready to admit I was right?” Dorian asked.

Lucien fought against drooping eyelids. “In general or is there something in particular you’re fishing for?”

“My general rightness is a given. I was speaking, however, of your obvious need for rest.”

“You were right. Granted, you have me at a disadvantage. At the moment I’d agree to anything you suggested.”

“A pity I need to waste such an opportunity on this, then.” Dorian stood, taking his hands with him. Their absence brought a return of pain and sharpened Lucien’s attention. Dorian’s brow was dark and heavy with concern. “Now that we’ve established I’ve known you long enough to see right through your empty deflection, perhaps you’ll answer a question.”

“What is it?”

“What happened to you after the Conclave?”

Lucien sat up and leaned his elbows against his knees. “It was nothing,” he said. He chewed on the inside of his lip. “You already know most of it. I fell out of the Fade and everyone decided I’d been saved by Andraste. Then they found out I was Tevinter and changed their tune. I had a couple of trips to the dungeons, had a phylactery made, and all that other fun stuff.”

“Nothing? I suppose that’s why you flinch every time the matter comes up.” Dorian’s jaw hardened and his mouth formed into a thin, ill-tempered line. “I believe we already established you’ve no talent for deception.”

Lucien raked his fingers through his hair. He left his head there, palms pressed against his eyes and short nails biting into his scalp. He didn’t want to talk about this, not with everything that had just happened, not with Alexius in chains, and Felix riding alone back to Tevinter on borrowed time. He didn’t want to but he would and not just because the world might end and he’d never get the chance otherwise.

Dorian made a good show of vanity and flippancy. Which wasn’t to say he was never vain nor flippant, but he did what he could to keep everyone around him at arm’s length. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. If anything, he cared too deeply. He ran the risk of being cut to the core by a world that could be cold and cruel, so he did what he could to pretend indifference. It was better. Safer.

Lucien knew that he was one of the few people who were allowed through Dorian’s defences. That was why he couldn’t stand to keep shutting Dorian out.

He shifted to rest his chin in his palm and looked up at Dorian, who was still glowering down at him. “I wasn’t entirely lying. It was nothing. More the threat of something.”

Dorian’s eyes widened. “ _Threat_?”

When Lucien heard it from Dorian’s mouth, high and sharp, he regretted describing it that way. He scrubbed a hand across his face. “It wasn’t- maybe threat is too strong a word. I don’t think she would have actually done it.” When it became apparent that his fumbling was only worrying Dorian further, he added, “Let me start from the beginning.”

Lucien rattled off everything he could remember, from waking up in the dungeons to the first attempt to seal the Breach and the subsequent return to the dungeons. When he got to the interrogation, he focused on his marked hand, the pain there a welcome distraction for the moment.

“As I’m sure you can imagine, when my ties to Tevinter came to light, my presence at the Conclave was deemed suspicious. To say the least.”  He swallowed thickly and slowly turned his gaze back up to Dorian. “To make sure I was telling the truth about the murder of Justinia, Cassandra threatened- she reminded me that I could be made Tranquil.”

Dorian moved his mouth around words that never came. Concern formed a deep fissure between knit brows. His movements were stiff and stilted. A tremor ran through his hands. From the way he worked his fingers, it was difficult to tell if it was the result of fear or an intense desire to throttle something. Lucien’s heart constricted painfully. He stood to capture Dorian’s hands in his own but was smoothly evaded.

“Cassandra- that’s the woman who always accompanies you, yes? The one with your phylactery?”

“Yes,” Lucien replied slowly, unsure if he wanted to give the man a target.

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian spat.

“I’ll admit, Cassandra isn’t my biggest fan, but I honestly don’t think she was going to do anything. Or will do anything. Tensions were running high.”

Dorian let out another string of curses. He cocked his head slightly and pinned Lucien with storm filled eyes. “And I suppose any remaining tensions have melted away, what with the world still in danger of ending. There’s no chance that someone would decide to make good on that threat. Whose feathers could a mage from Tevinter possibly ruffle? I’m sure everyone is thrilled to have you trotted around as the Herald of Andraste.”

“Thrilled or not, without my hand, the world is doomed. There’s no guarantee the mark would survive if I was made Tranquil.”

“And there’s no guarantee it wouldn’t! Or that there aren’t those who would consider it worth the risk.”

Lucien reached out and this time Dorian let himself be caught. As soon as contact was made between the two of them, his anger gave way under the weight of persistent dread. He captured either side of Lucien’s head. His thumbs stroked a loitering trail from cheekbones to jaw and back again.

“I’ll be fine,” Lucien swore.

“You said that before but you would be dead if not for your supernatural luck,” Dorian retorted. His voice cracked and his eyes shone. He was close enough that Lucien could feel his breath as it came out in uneasy, stuttering spurts. “From the moment you left, I waited to hear that you would never return. When I did… now I find out that isn’t even the worse thing that could have happened to you.”

Dorian stepped back, putting brisk evening air between them. He drew a long breath and collected himself with its release. “Did you and I really call the same viper pit home all those years, that you can still afford to trust so blindly? If you let them, there are few in this world who will not hesitate to turn on you if it suits their end.”

His voice was uncharacteristically coarse and cool. Not for the first time, Lucien sensed a profound hurt that Dorian refused to let out and, as ever, the other man was ready to flee as soon as he realized he’d let that inner turmoil show. He turned abruptly and started to walk back toward the village.

“Dorian, wait.”

Dorian slowed but did not stop. “You were right,” he said, voice airy. “We should go. No need to arouse suspicions. I wouldn’t want them thinking they needed to put that phylactery of yours to use.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to have that scene happen here but there you have it. Though, that's hardly the end of that. Also, thank you so much again to everyone who has left comments and kudos. It really brightens my day. :)


	11. A Reputation to Keep

“You asked for me?” Lucien asked, peering through the door to Josephine’s office.

“Ah, Lord Trevelyan. Yes. Please take a seat.”

The ambassador gestured to a chair across from her desk, which he took. “I’m sure after all we’ve been through, simply Lucien will suffice.”

“Of course,” Josephine said with a gracious smile. “I know you are quite busy with preparations to seal the Breach, but you requested an update on relations with our allies.”

Lucien’s stomach twisted as he recalled his conversation with Dorian in Redcliffe. He nodded. “I did. If anyone is sharpening a knife because of something I did, I think I’d rather hear about it now rather than when the blade is buried in my back.”

“A wise decision.” Josephine folded her hands neatly on the desk. “As you asked, Commander Cullen made it known that you had agreed to have a phylactery made. It has helped to insure goodwill. The people feel it gives them some measure of security and they see it as an indication that you are willing to work within the bounds of the Chantry system. I would not go so far as to say your troubles are over with the Chantry, but the more worrisome factions have at least quieted for the time being.”

Lucien’s fingers curled over the hair width strip of pink skin on his palm. It should have healed entirely but he’d felt unable to leave it be. His anxious picking had left him with a scar. One mark for either hand made him feel more balanced. At least he knew where one of them came from.

“It’s always nice to have something go as planned,” he said. “And the mages?”

“As you had hoped, many were indeed gratified to know that you stood against Alexius and seized the mages from his control. However, you should know, there are still many uneasy whispers about your motivations in taking such action. Some fear the rebel mages merely traded one Tevinter master for another. Especially, I’m afraid, because of the addition of Lord Dorian to the Inquisition. I understand he is an old friend of yours, however the presence of another Tevinter does little to help the people’s good opinion of us.”

“I see. Do they know he saved my life? That the Inquisition- the entire world- owes him a great debt?”

“We have not been able to disclose the details of what happened in Redcliffe Castle. Nor, I should think, would it help. Most would only see it as further proof of the dangers of Tevinter magic.”

“Well then,” he said with a weary sigh, “if there’s nothing else, I have a hole in the sky to deal with and Solas gets cranky when I keep him waiting.”

“There’s is something else actually.” Josephine stood and circled the desk. She pressed a missive into his hands. “A letter from Magister Trevelyan.”

But of course he already knew that. The subtle smell of blood lotus and anise clung to it, even after its long journey. The wax seal, imprinted with the family crest, was already broken. Leliana hadn’t even bothered to hide the fact that she’d read the contents. He actually found that comforting, in a strange way. He fully expected that level of scrutiny from the spymaster and he’d rather she be open about it than try to hide it and take him for a fool.

He gave Josephine his thanks as he unfolded the correspondence and made his way out of the ambassador’s office. He experienced a brief, unforeseen pang of homesickness upon seeing his mother’s neat, tight handwriting.

_My Son,_

_I am pleased to see your time in the south has not changed your manners. To think I had to have your survival confirmed by that dreadful fool, Varro. Though, I dare say I am tempted to forgive you this transgression because it meant I won the pleasure of watching that imbecile sputter and gape over the news. He seemed under the impression that you had planned the entire affair, from start to finish. I saw no reason to divest him of this notion._

_Alexius’ boy also stopped by for a visit, though he had far more complimentary things to say of you. I’ve offered to help him gather the Magisterium to speak and a place to stay, in the meantime. He seemed exhausted by his journey and I saw no reason to send him along to an empty house._

_Finally, now that you no longer need play the boorish southerner, you will be outfitted properly. Someone will be along to deliver your staff and anything else you may need. Remember, you are my child. Represent me well. Show them all exactly what House Trevelyan is capable of._

Lucien knew how to read between the lines.

Most back home did not approve of the Inquisition nor its Herald. How could they when the whole thing left the sour taste of the southern Chantry in the mouths of all who spoke of it? Nevermind that the Inquisition wasn’t actually a branch of the Chantry nor could it truly even claim its support, not after everything that had happened. All that mattered was what it looked like at a distance, with its formation ordered by the false Divine and lead in part by her Left and Right Hand. Yet Lucien had his mother’s support. Or, at the very least, she had decided his was the winning side and so she would align the house with him, rather than denounce him.

It should have comforted him but he knew better. It made him a target, both in the south and back home. Here because the more support he had from Tevinter, the worse, and home because his mother had finally found a way to make him a threat. No matter what it might like to think, House Trevelyan was not a major player. They lacked, many said, the proper ambition- that ruthless drive to do whatever was needed to rise to the top. Lucien was seen as an exemplary case of his house’s failings.

His parents had placed their bets on quantity to make up for what others saw as a lack of quality. Unlike most noble houses, they didn’t have to put all their hopes into one child or even two because they had four. It had turned out to be a double edged sword. Two of his younger siblings had married young and married well, which had taken a considerable amount of pressure off of him. He was able to make a match of his own choosing and had done very well with Aurelia. She was an exceptionally clever mage from a respectable family. Everyone had high hopes for the match, including Lucien himself.

Unfortunately, space to choose meant space to doubt. He dragged it out far longer than was fair to her and so he’d ended it once and for all. She had made another match almost immediately, which made her family happy. The same could not be said of his family. They had always assumed he would come to his senses eventually and marry Aurelia.

Dorian hadn’t been far off the mark when he’d joked that Lucien’s parents had sent him south as a punishment. The scheme with the Conclave was as much an opportunity to get him out of sight for a while as it was for him to make up for his perceived transgression. His mother’s letter was a reminder of that. He could still make his house proud.

No pressure. All he needed do was save the world.

Of course, even that might not count for much if anyone back home knew how seriously he had taken House Trevelyan’s efforts to maintain close relations with House Pavus. Not that he could say with any confidence that there was anything for them to find out about. It wasn’t as though a few stolen kisses a relationship made. Dorian certainly didn’t seem to think so. Lucien had expected life in Haven to be far less lonely once Dorian was brought into the fold. If anything, it was far more. He rarely saw the man and when he did, Dorian was always ready with some excuse for why he needed to be elsewhere. Not that Lucien had much free time to speak of recently but he felt the absence more keenly when Dorian was so close at hand.

He would have to worry about that later, along with finding something favorable to say in reply to the correspondence from his mother. If nothing else, he could take some comfort in the news about Felix and he was sure Dorian would be pleased to know the young man wasn’t utterly alone.

Lucien tucked the folded letter into a breast pocket and left the Chantry in search of Solas.

The day had barely yet started and already Haven was abuzz with excitement. Villagers darted here and there, some even smiling at him as they went. Lucien could hardly begin to guess what the fuss was about until Threnn called him over. He edged over to the quartermaster cautiously. She’d never been his biggest fan and things had taken an even icier turn once she learned he was of Tevinter.

“Is it true?” she asked.

“Is what true?” Lucien asked cautiously. Threnn’s voice was hard but it was always hard and she didn’t sound accusing.

“You really going to close that hole in the sky tomorrow?”

Lucien didn’t know where the woman had heard that. He’d been keeping quiet about most of his work with Solas so that no one would get their hopes up if there was some unforeseen delay. Finally, after nearly two straight weeks of work on the matter, they’d decided one last dry run before they attempted the real thing. Perhaps, in her excitement over the news, Josephine had let it slip as it didn’t seem like the others at the top of the Inquisition would spill the secret. That, or it may have been one of the mages. Things had been far from smooth for the rebels and he couldn’t have blamed one of them if they’d been eager to have something to brag about.

At any rate, if Threnn knew, Lucien was sure most of rest the village did as well. There was no point in hiding it any longer.

“That’s the plan,” he said.

Threnn gave him a curt, approving nod. “Good. Getting tired of that thing looming over us all the time.”

Lucien tried to offer her a smile but he was still so startled by the whole exchange that he wasn’t sure he managed the correct expression. Threnn shook her head at him then went back to her work. Lucien hastily took his leave and resumed his search for Solas.

As he neared the quiet corner of the village where the elf generally tarried, he heard raised voices. He thought to withdraw to give a bit of privacy until he heard his own name come up. He stopped short behind the corner of a nearby house to listen in.

“You don’t know? You are the expert, are you not?”

Dorian. It was the same incredulous tone he’d used since his youth when someone who ought to have the answers came up blank. It was a tone that said quite clearly, if he was in their place, he would have known. He’d infuriated more than his share of teachers and older children with that voice, especially because he’d rarely failed to find the answer that had eluded them.

Obviously from the way he answered, Solas took it just as well as all who preceded him.

“Am I? You do not seem convinced. Please, feel free to enlighten me if you have an answer. If, as I suspect, you do not then allow me to repeat myself in hopes that it will stick. The mark on the Herald’s hand is an anomaly. When I first met him, it was killing him. There is indeed a chance that he could die or be harmed in some way in the attempt to seal the Breach. The mark may also vanish or nothing could change at all. It is impossible to know what will happen until the Breach is closed successfully.”

“So that’s it? Just throw the man at the Breach and hope for the best?”

Rather than wait for the increasingly tense conversation to turn into an outright argument, Lucien decided to step in. He’d rather not have all of Haven overhear the two of them arguing over the odds of the Herald’s demise.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help overhearing,” he said. “I’m not going to have to speak with the commander about having the trebuchets calibrated to launch me at the Breach, am I?”

Solas chuckled softly. “No. I’m sure our original plan will work.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and then settled his gaze on Lucien. “And what brilliant plan has he come up with- wiggle your fingers and try not to die? I’m sure we can expect nothing less impressive from a mage whose only educational background includes falling asleep for extended periods of time.”

Solas’ eyes narrowed. Dorian lost hold of the last of his bluster and deflated.

“I apologize,” he said. “That was unworthy of me.”

“Luckily for me, I did not come to the Inquisition looking to impress or find approval. I came to try to undo some of the damage that happened at the Conclave,” Solas replied. His fingers tightened around his staff. He turned to Lucien. “When you are ready, I will be with Fiona and the others.”

“I’ll only be a moment, Solas. Thank you.”

Solas inclined his head toward Lucien to take his leave. Once they were alone, Lucien arched an eyebrow at Dorian.

“Doing your best to get along with everyone as usual, I see.”

Dorian crossed his arms and leaned on a nearby woodpile. “When you’ve charm like mine, it’s best to know when to rein it in. It wouldn’t do for me to outshine Andraste’s holy herald.”

“I suppose that’s why you decided you needed to try to pick a fight with Solas. None of us know what we’re doing here, I’ll admit, but his knowledge of the Fade has helped us at least try.”

“It’s not as though it was my intention to bicker. I was on my very best behavior. It’s hardly my fault that he was being insufferably vague when I inquired as to the likelihood of your demise.”

“That’s because he wasn’t supposed to be talking about it. How did you find out anyway?”

“Not from you, clearly. And no need to fret about your fellow conspirators. They didn’t tell me either. I just happened to overhear a couple of them discussing the matter.”

“We weren’t talking about it because we didn’t want to worry anyone when there might not be anything to worry about. And it’s not like you’ve given me much opportunity to tell you. You’ve been doing a rather good job avoiding me.”

Dorian brushed a growing collection of snowflakes from his shoulders and then craned his neck to scan their surroundings. Aside from a small songbird that alighted on a nearby roof, they were still alone. Dorian drifted closer to Lucien. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” he said. “I’ve been avoiding being around you.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Is there a difference?” Dorian shook his head. His fingers tapped impatiently at his elbows. This time it was Lucien’s turn to be on the receiving end of that disbelieving voice. Every syllable was an indictment. “Of course there is. I had hoped after the last time we talked, you’d have started thinking more about your reputation.”

“I have. I just got out of a meeting with Josephine to discuss that very thing.”

“Have you now? And I suppose she told you people were thrilled to have me join?”

Lucien cringed. “They aren’t enthusiastic about it, true. But if they saw you working with me to seal the Breach, I think we could change their minds. About both of us.”

“What they’d see if we worked together with your elven apostate and collection of rebel mages would not be the idyllic spirit of cooperation and heroism that I’m sure you’re imagining. I should think, rather, there would soon be rumors about the wicked Tevinters conspiring with other dangerous apostates. You’ve enough problems without me giving them more reason to doubt your intent nor do I wish to give anyone cause to consider Tranquility again.”

Lucien should have guessed it sooner. Of the two of them, Dorian had always been far more aware of the pitfalls of perception. He knew how the wrong words in the right ears- or the rights words in the wrong ears- could spell disaster just as surely as a rampaging dragon. Lucien knew it as well but he’d more often had the luxury of not caring. He didn’t have that luxury any longer. He was in the middle of unfriendly territory at the forefront of an organization that had the eyes of the world on it. The stakes could not have been higher.

Yet, if it came down to playing it safe or keeping Dorian close, he knew he couldn’t make himself care about the stakes. There was no question.

He placed a hand on Dorian’s arm. “And if I think it’s worth the risk?”

Dorian looked a bit like Lucien had grown a second head but a soft smile graced his lips nonetheless. “Then we’ll discuss it again. _After_ you don’t die.”

“You should know by now that not dying is a specialty of mine.”

“Yes well, this time if you could not make it such a close thing, I would appreciate it. All of these brushes with death are starting to chip away at my own lifespan.”


	12. Men of Tevinter

His magic all but spent, Lucien buried the bladed end of his staff into a Templar’s exposed throat. Blood sprayed out and painted everything around it red. It was too red. The Templar died but his blood seemed to live on in the singing crystals that congealed in his veins. It buzzed distractingly in Lucien’s ears, calling out to the lyrium that coursed through him from too many potions. Those potions had been all that could keep him going when wave after wave of opponents crashed through the mountains.

The smell of burning buildings and worse, burning bodies, filled the air. Lucien’s lungs were raw from it. He swallowed the acrid air and tried not to think about who he was smelling. The charred and twisted bodies of friend and foe clogged the dirt trails that crossed Haven. It was nearly impossible to make headway, let alone draw the attention of an archdemon.

“Varric, protect the soldiers at the trebuchet. If we lose that, we lose everything.”

“Got it.”

Varric offered a salute and disappeared into the night. Lucien tried to track the dwarf’s progress but to no avail. So he turned his eyes to the sky. The dragon’s great leathery form was barely visible in the night sky above. It was too high. He couldn’t let it see the wider picture if the others were to escape. Unfortunately, if he didn’t have the energy to deal with a solitary Templar, he certainly couldn’t muster the power to impress a dragon.

Nerves had kept him awake most of the night before and though the mages did a great deal to ease his burden, closing the Breach had taken most of what he had left to give. He’d wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next month when it was all over. Celebrations had robbed him of what chance he might have had to rest before disaster struck.

His legs felt like jelly. He clung to his staff like a lifeline and prayed that he would not fall. Not yet.

“Dorian,” he called over the clamor of battle. “Do you think you could do something to bring that monster down a bit? Get it to look here instead of at the fleeing villagers?”

Dorian finished off another rushing Templar and then turned to Lucien with a glint in his eyes. He still seemed to have energy to spare, though it had to be more pure will than anything else at that point. “Do you even need to ask? Being noticed is a specialty of mine.”

He climbed a ladder to gain a better vantage point. He thrust his palms to the sky, stoking the burning wreckage about him into an inferno. Never content to do anything halfway, he then started to throw lightning. While electricity cracked from Dorian’s staff and filled the sky, Lucien decided to take advantage of the distraction. He grabbed Cassandra by the shoulder as she passed.

“I know we’ve hardly been on the best of terms but I need you to do something for me,” he said quickly. He held up a finger to cut off her response. “I don’t have long. Just listen.”

Confusion and suspicion mixed in the Seeker’s amber eyes. “Speak.”

“I’m the only one that needs to stay to distract this Elder One but I doubt Dorian will just leave me to it. Stop him. Make sure he comes with the rest of you. There has to be something you can do to subdue him. I can face my end if I must but not if he’s there. So, if you could just do this one thing for me, please.”

Cassandra nodded. “I will do that.”

The steel in her voice left no room for doubt and cut loose the burden weighing on Lucien’s heart. Freed from that, he found a second wind. When Cassandra rushed back into the thick of battle, he did what he could to support her. His body protested the renewed effort but he ignored the throbbing pressure in his skull and the creak of weary joints. He wouldn’t have to keep it up long after all.

“Archdemon incoming,” Dorian shouted

The dragon’s cry cracked the heavens and matched the thunder from the mage’s attacks. Dorian jumped gracefully down from his perch and dashed to Lucien’s side with a wild grin. Both mages worked in perfect unison as they fought to get to the trebuchet. Any opponent missed by one was quickly caught by the other. They were both exhausted but together they could make up for strained muscles and stumbling steps.

“Reminds me of the duels you and I would so frequently find ourselves in when we were children,” Dorian said between gasping breaths.

Lucien laughed and then winced at the painful stitch in his side. “The duels you would get us into by goading older students, you mean. And I don’t remember there being any archdemons to worry about then.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Do you remember that giant brute Crescens? He certainly had the breath for the part.”

The pair sidestepped a thin grasping creature as it lunged for them. Massive spikes of red lyrium took the place of its arms and protruded from its body to such an extent it no longer seemed a man. It nearly stabbed Lucien in the back but Dorian froze it in place, giving Lucien the chance to thrust backward with his staff. The monstrosity shattered, leaving as many chunks of crimson crystal behind as flesh.

When they reached their destination, Cassandra was already waiting but the soldiers around her had been slain and Varric was nowhere to be found. Lucien cast his eyes about in search of the dwarf but a fresh wave of Templars forced him to consider more pressing matters. He wove through the attacking horde in order to reach the trebuchet’s crank. Cassandra and Dorian guarded his back while he moved it into position.

He’d nearly finished when Dorian called out to him.

“I think we’re going to need your help here.”

As if to punctuate the plea, the ground started to shake. Lucien spun on his heel just in time to see a grotesque behemoth drag itself onto the battlefield. If some of the other Templars had looked more mineral than man, this monstrosity could have played the part of a mountain. It swung its club-like arm at them, every bit the siege engine itself as the trebuchet at Lucien’s back.

Lucien gaped as the archdemon laid waste to what was left of the village. He hoped that would occupy the dragon just a bit longer as he fumbled at his belt in search of a lyrium potion. As he suspected, he’d long run out. So he called upon the last of his mana to wage one final assault.

The Templar turned walking statue shrugged off most of their attacks. It was immediately evident that, if they were to prevail, they needed to outsmart the monster. Lucien called on the elements to aid him. He blinded the behemoth with snow and froze its legs with a blast of freezing wind. Cassandra charged the undersized appendages. Her strength was enough to snap right through a leg made brittle by the cold. The monster roared as it toppled to the ground, where it found a fire mine that Dorian had prepared. The mine exploded and reduced the Templar to shards of red lyrium.

Dorian pulled Lucien out of the way of a particularly large chunk as it bounced off the ground. Lucien fell back against the crank. His eyes jumped back to the burning village. It couldn’t be long now.

“Where is Varric?” he asked Cassandra, his gaze never leaving the dragon. “We need to move soon.”

“He was beside me when I reached the trebuchet,” Cassandra replied, baffled.

The dragon beat its massive wings, sending debris into the already choked air. It locked eyes with Lucien as it gained altitude. Dorian edged backward. He bumped into Lucien and their hands brushed against each other. Lucien wove their fingers together. He gave a quick squeeze and when he released his grip, his resolve was set.

“We’re out of time. Find Varric if you can but move!”

“No need to find me. I was hoping the stables hadn’t been completely cleared and it turns out we’re in luck,” Varric shouted. The dwarf was perched precariously on the back of a charging bronto. He barrelled forward, barely keeping from running everyone over in the process. “The cavalry is here. Climb on board.”

Dorian started forward but stopped short when he realized Lucien hadn’t budged. “You have no intention of coming with us, do you?”

Lucien shook his head. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

Dorian jabbed a shaking finger up at the dragon as it climbed ever higher in preparation for a dive. “You’ve gotten it’s attention. Fire on the mountain and go.”

“I can’t do anything until I know the others have gotten to a safe distance. This won’t mean anything unless I can be sure it’s done right. I’m sorry, Dorian.”

At those words, Cassandra came up behind Dorian and knocked him unconscious with one swift, precise hit. He slumped into the Seeker’s waiting arms with a look of betrayal fixed on his face. Relief and guilt formed a painful knot in Lucien’s chest. Before he even had a chance to give his thanks, Cassandra was on the move. She slung Dorian over the bronto’s back and then vaulted up herself. She dug her armored boots into the beast’s sides, sending it charging.

Varric shouted obscenities as the bronto tore forward. It might have been a comical sight if Lucien had time for laughter. The lumbering beast was barely out of reach when the dragon unleashed its fury at last. Blight corrupted fire rained down. The earth burst open, sending Lucien flying. All breath was forced from his lungs as he fell hard on his back. He tried to track the dragon’s progress but he was too disoriented- the stars wheeled fitfully in the sky above him and his ears rang.

He held his marked hand aloft like a beacon. If he was the target in all this, let the dragon and it’s master- this Elder one- see him. Let those who yet lived escape.

From the corner of his eye he saw a figure emerge from the flames. He shook his head, sure that he still wasn’t seeing things correctly. This was no man, no corrupted Templar, and, though it looked close,  it didn’t fit any description of a darkspawn that he knew of. This, then, had to be the Elder One at last. Everything about him was wrong, stretched. It was like someone had taken a human and molded him like clay, pushing the bounds of the grotesque until man became monster. His fingers were drawn to spindling, claw tipped points and pale, waxy flesh was pulled taut over cloth and metal.

Lucien struggled to find his feet. He wasn’t eager to be caught lying down but he felt like the bronto that had borne his friends to safety had run over him in the process. Every step was a struggle as he warily backed away.

A moment later and he no longer had to wonder where his friend the archdemon had gotten off to because it had touched down behind him. His legs trembled with the impact. He overbalanced and might have fallen straight into the charging dragon’s maw had he not thrown out his arms to steady himself.

He wasn’t sure what he’d imagined dragon breath to smell like, but this was far worse than anything his mind could have conjured. It reeked of sulphur and carrion. Lucien got the distinct impression that the stench of rot came not only from a string of unlucky victims but from something internal, as though death clung to the unfortunately very living, very menacing dragon.

Just as the ringing in his ears had subsided, the dragon reared its head and roared. Lucien cringed. The sound was painfully loud and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Enough.” The booming voice of the Elder One was somehow worse than the archdemon’s roar. Apparently the dragon agreed with Lucien because it froze right along with him. “Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken no more.”

Lucien cautiously turned around. His eyes flicked beyond the approaching figure to the trebuchet. It was too far away. If he was going to succeed in doing anything beyond providing an archdemon with a late night meal, he’d need to find a way to get over to it. He had to keep talking and hope an opportunity presented itself.

“What are you?” he demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are. What I was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus. You will kneel.”

A bony finger was thrust into Lucien’s face with such conviction that he nearly obeyed. He scowled and bit the inside of his cheek resentfully. “Why are you here? You come at the head of an army, you kill all those people, and for what? The Breach is already closed. What does this accomplish? You haven’t even asked for anything.”

“I ask for nothing because it is not in your power to give. But that will not stop me.” Corypheus raised his hand. There was a strange orb clutched in his cadaverous fingers. The magic in that orb was so potent that even at a distance, it made Lucien’s teeth tingle. “I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

Corypheus lifted up his other arm. The red light in his palm flared in a perverse mirror of the mark on Lucien’s hand. That mark- the anchor as Corypheus called it- crackled fitfully. Agony jolted up his arm and seized hold of his body. His knees buckled. It took all he had to keep from sinking to the ground. He bit back a cry and clutched at his wrist as Corypheus descended upon him.

“It is your fault, Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning and, instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived but what marks you as touched- what you flail at Rifts- I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

Corypheus redoubled his efforts to rend the anchor from Lucien’s hand. Lights bloomed behind Lucien’s eyes. He tried to cry out but the sound died in a too tight throat. His head swam through an ever growing fog. The circling dragon’s hot, arid breath met skin that could no longer rightly feel its touch. Lucien was barely aware of having fallen to his hands and knees until he saw the bottom hem of Corypheus’ sobes just below his eyes.

“And you use the anchor to undo my work,” Corypheus sneered. “To betray your empire. The gall.”

Betray his empire? The Imperium? Lucien couldn’t make sense of it nor could he fathom what his relationship with Tevinter mattered to Corypheus. He clutched his hand to his heart and propped himself up on one knee. “What is this thing meant to do?”

“It is meant to bring certainty where this is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” Corypheus reached down and snatched that hand from Lucien’s chest. He held Lucien aloft, his dagger sharp nails digging into Lucien’s arms. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers.”

Lucien’s eyes widened. Sudden horrible understanding cut through the fog of pain that shrouded his mind. “You’re a magister? One of _the_  magisters, the ones who breached the Golden City? That’s- it can’t be. It’s absurd. Impossible.”

“And you a whelp of a ruined land. I once thrashed like you at things I could not understand. For a thousand years, I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter, and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty.”

Corypheus held Lucien like a ragdoll and like a doll, Lucien could do nothing but fall limply when tossed aside. He gasped as he struck the trebuchet. His body was nearly at its limit. There was little he could do other than try to keep himself propped up.

Shame boiled in his stomach. The Venatori in Redcliffe had been bad enough but this? He felt like he was caught in some outlandish dream brought by the preachy Chantry sisters who lingered outside his room. And it seemed they had right to. It really all came back to Tevinter. It shouldn’t have surprised him but it did. He had held foolishly onto the notion that some of it had to be slander and lies. He knew there was good to be found in his homeland and so he’d stubbornly refused to believe that all the world’s greatest evils traced back to it.

“The anchor is permanent,” Corypheus growled. “You have spoilt it with your stumbling.”

Lucien found his feet once more with strength he no longer had.

Tevinter had brought the Blight into the world ages ago and now it sought to bring ruin once more. He could make sure it did at least one final thing of value. He would do everything in his power to buy the people of Haven space from this monster. If he paid with his life, so be it. The Inquisition could pick up where he left off.

From the way Corypheus stalked over, it was clear he saw no threat to his grand schemes. “So be it. I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation and god it requires.”

Deep in the distant peaks, a fiery arrow leaped into the sky. They’d made it. Lucien had stalled long enough. His back stood a little straighter as he smiled in victory.

“You say I’m the one who doesn’t understand, doesn’t see, but you’re the one who can’t see, Corypheus. The Tevinter you imagine is so long dead that nothing you can do will bring it back. For every one of your short-sighted Venatori, there will be another fighting to stop you.”

Corypheus’ upper lip curled back over his teeth. “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

Lucien huffed out a dry laugh. “Do you really think you’re the first magister with delusions of godhood I’ve met in my life? I know your type far better than you’ll ever understand mine. I do hope you enjoyed blathering on. Here’s your well earned reward.”

He fell against the nearby lever and launched the trebuchet. The massive stone dislodged the thick blanket of snow that weighed upon the mountain’s shoulders. A wave of white tumbled impossibly fast toward the three of them- dragon, magister, and man. Corypheus and his archdemon roared out their rage. Lucien didn’t wait to see what would happen. He ignored the way his muscles burned and propelled himself forward, step after leaping step.

Corypheus claimed there were no gods but as Lucien launched himself into a black abyss, he prayed all the same.


	13. From the Ashes

Lucien awoke feeling warm and blissfully comfortable. Neither state was in any way expected when he’d fallen unconscious- for that matter, he hadn’t entirely expected to wake at all- and so he suspiciously cracked open his eyes. Instead of cobwebs and rough hewn stone he’d grown used to over the last months, he saw an intricately adorned ceiling. Fine black marble marked by snaking strands of white and flecks of gold completed the illusion that he was staring up at the night sky. It was a fantasy he’d quite enjoyed in his youth and it didn’t take him long to realize that he was no longer in Haven in frozen Ferelden, but in his bedroom in Tevinter.

He shook his head. A dream. But which part?

He looked down at the palms of his hands. Both were completely unblemished. No more thin, puckered scar from blood drawn to fill a phylactery. No flicker of sickly chartreuse light that threatened to eat him whole. It felt absurd to think that each had been a dream but it seemed more outrageous to think either could have really happened to him.

He swung his legs over the edge of his expansive bed. His feet found tile warmed by ancient enchantments so that the cool chill of night would never touch him. In another room, there was undoubtedly a steaming bath awaiting him and a tray of food ready, should he not wish to wait until the first meal was served. Not that he was ever truly hungry or in any great need of a bath. Funny that any of that should have seemed odd. That was the life of an Altus, not holes in the sky or angry Seekers or piss poor ale.

He padded barefoot out into the hallway. The long passage was empty, as was every room that he passed. The Trevelyan household was an orderly place and far from what some might consider bustling despite the large family, but he’d never seen things this quiet. In fact, aside from his own soft footfalls, there wasn’t a single sound.

His heart stopped.

There, at the edge of hearing, was an incessant chittering. The more he listened for it, the louder it got. He caught glimpses from the corner of his eyes- clacking mandibles, the hard edge of a shining carapace, and a flurry of claw tipped legs. When he tried to face the specters head on, he found only empty space. Terror gripped at him as flashes of memory came back unbidden.

His pace picked up until he was running outright. He didn’t waste a thought to where he was going but instead let his feet carry him where they would. On he went, through the main hall and up the grand staircase. The climb seemed endless. Up and up, never reaching his destination. That neverending, frantic climb started to feel eerily familiar, though he couldn’t fathom why.

Just as he hovered at the precipice of recovering some lost memory, the stairs stopped. He found himself on a balcony. If this were truly his home, it would have overlooked the gardens. Instead, he saw all of Thedas spread impossibly before him. A fire started in distant Haven and swept the land until even unassailable Minrathous was engulfed. Screams echoed from the streets below. It was then that the anchor blazed to life in his palm. As if drawn by a magnet, it rushed of its own accord into the air above him. But it was no longer his own arm. It rose up far higher than it ought. The rich bronze tones of his own skin were all but drained away in flesh so thin as to be almost completely translucent.

In an instant the heavens were awash with emerald light and the fires roared up to meet the sky.

Lucien awoke with a gasp. He gulped down frantic breaths as he tried to shake the lingering pull of the Fade from his mind. The sky was no longer green. In its place there was a black void which, as his darting eyes adjusted to the light, he realized was the canopy of a tent.

“Don’t worry. I’m here.”

I’ll protect you, his mind supplied instantly. But it was rather too late for that. He’d made sure of it. And while he found the words strangely comforting, it wasn’t Dorian he found waiting for him when he awoke, it was a peculiar young man.

Lucien propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look. His mind struggled for a moment to find the memory but then he realized it was the boy who had warned them of Corypheus’ approach. His name was… Cole? Which answered who he was. Lucien still couldn’t figure out why he was there.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked, unsure of what else to say.

“No.” The boy’s mouth widened around the word, drawing it out as if he was baffled by the suggestion. “I’m here to help. You’re hurting. But you’re bright. Too bright. It’s hard to see.”

Lucien shook his head, certain that the lingering weariness which clung to his mind had made him hear things wrong. “A mountain did fall on me. Nearly. But I’m alright now, more or less.”

“All on you. You think they want you to fail as much as succeed. You don’t know which you’ll do. They huddle close, hoping and fearing, and you fear for them. _I’m not a monster. I’m not that. I won’t be._ ”

Lucien slid back down into his cot. Hearing thoughts he wasn’t entirely aware of forming coming from the mouth of another was more than he felt equipped to deal with at the moment. He rolled his head to look more closely at Cole. The young man- or whatever he was- was seated atop a barrel. His feet swung to the beat of a silent song and his head was dipped low and nearly invisible underneath the brim of his improbable hat.

“How?” Lucien asked.

“I’m sorry, I want to help but I can’t see.” Cole said. He peered up with sunken eyes and cocked his head. “I should go. Roderick’s alone. He shouldn’t be alone. Maybe someone else, though.”

“Roderick? I- what?”

Lucien blinked and Cole was gone. A moment later, the whole thing felt like another part of his dream. If he hadn’t been holding so tightly to the memory, it would have slipped away altogether. It was just one more thing to make Lucien’s head throb. He had just let his eyes fall shut again when he heard the flap of the tent open. He looked up to see Dorian framed in the entranced, looking frantic. Dorian sighed in relief when their eyes met.

The edge of the cot sagged with his added weight. With one smooth, soothing motion, Dorian swept a damp lock of dark hair from Lucien’s clammy forehead and sent a wave of cool magic to ease away the final remnants of feverish heat. His hand trailed down the side of Lucien’s face. He cupped the other man’s chin before pulling his hand back to himself.

“Thank goodness. I only stepped out for a moment. When he said you needed help, I thought- but you’re alright.”

“Someone sent you in here?”

“Yes.”

Dorian’s face screwed up as if he couldn’t quite remember what he was referring to even as he said it. He glanced toward the exit and for a moment Lucien thought Dorian was going to leave. It was clear something still plagued him from the hard line of his shoulders and the incessant bob of his foot. He dealt best with his troubles by doing something- usually reading or drinking or some combination thereof. With neither book nor brew on hand, he was left with only his aversion to talking it out.

He turned his face away. Lucien thought he saw Dorian dash his hand across his eyes but the motion morphed into a graceful readjustment of his collar. He cast a sidelong look at Lucien.

“I’m not sure I can forgive you,” he said, his voice thick.

There was no need for Lucien to ask what Dorian was referring to. He sat up, though even that minimal effort was a bit dizzying for a body still robbed of strength. He leaned on one of his arms for support. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” Dorian rounded on Lucien. The sheen in his eyes and tightness in his voice belied the anger on his face. “I thought you’d died. _Again_. I thought, this time at least you wouldn’t be alone.”

“How could I let you stay if it meant you might have died?”

“So you’d rather I live not knowing if there might have been something I could have done if I’d been able to stay?”

“It’s not like I was set on dying but, yes. If I could be sure I saved you, then it was worth any cost.”

Dorian clicked his tongue. “You’re a fool if you think that’s a fair trade.” He cut off Lucien with a gesture. “We both saw what’s at stake. We saw what the future was like without you in it.”

“Maybe all that was because you weren’t there.”

“I’m sure you weren’t in any state to notice but you’d know that wasn’t true if you could have seen the way these people looked at you when you returned from the dead.”

“I didn’t return from the dead,” Lucien protested.

“Not literally of course, though you’ll find a fair few ready to argue you did as much. From the way people reacted when you returned despite all odds, you might as well have been hand delivered by the Maker. It was almost as if all their prior disbelief made them believe all the more. How else could the wicked Tevinter rise from the flames if not by the grace of a god? The world doesn’t need me. It needs you.”

“Well, I need you. What’s the world if I save it and not you?”

That was enough to take the edge off Dorian’s rigid posture. “Said without even a hint of insincerity. Sweet Maker,” he sighed. “Were you always like this?”

“You bring it out in me.”

Dorian rolled his eyes but, whether it was simply a happy accident from shifting his weight, he ended up closer to Lucien. There was a comforting pressure where their bodies met.

A heavy silence fell between them. Not for the first time, Lucien felt like Dorian was a million miles away while he was right within reach. Lucien wasn’t sure how to close that gap. He cleared his throat. “You said we could talk about us if I didn’t die. And, well, I didn’t. Despite news to contrary.”

“Ah yes. _Us_.” Dorian crossed his arms and leaned back. “What is there to say? You already know how I feel about the matter. People will talk.”

“Let them,” Lucien said without hesitation.

“You say that, but you could have a real chance. Here and back home. I think you’ve finally started to win these southerners over with this latest stunt of yours. And while I might be well past the point of having- or wanting- my family’s good graces, you still have a chance. Get closer to me and you’ll do a fine job of burning both those bridges, and worse. Need I remind you what you risk with a bad reputation?”

Lucien held back the response ready at the tip of his tongue, that he would have happily burned those bridges long ago if he’d thought Dorian had been truly interested. Even if it was the absolute truth, it felt like an empty line when they both knew full well that he’d played it safe. His prior relationships with other men had been far too ephemeral to really be called such. They’d been brief, secretive affairs that were ended long before anyone might have a chance at getting hurt or before news of them might get out.

He thought of the letter still tucked in his breast pocket and a mother’s expectations held within. He wondered if she’d take this news as well as news of him being the blasphemous Herald of Andraste. He doubted it but there was a chance it could be less than a disaster. He was hardly the Trevelyans’ only hope. At any rate, this wasn’t the sort of thing he wanted floating back north in the form of salacious rumors. He’d prefer to tell his family in person but he wasn’t sure that would be an option. His hope of returning home when the Breach was sealed was stomped firmly under Corypheus’ boot.

“Let me worry about my family,” he said. “As for everyone else, I think my reputation is at far greater risk from Corypheus. I can’t imagine anything I might do that would make me look worse than a darkspawn Magister with aspirations of godhood already has.”

“Oh, I’m sure if we were creative we could find a few ways to really scandalize the people.” Dorian grinned cheekily. When his smile started to soften into something warmer, he tried to hide it by shaking his head. “Fine. Have it your way. Far be it for me to let anyone get the impression that I’ve started acting sensibly about such matters.”

Lucien’s heart  jumped up into his throat as he sat straighter to capture Dorian’s lips. The sudden movement proved too much. Light headedness overcame him as their mouths pressed lightly together. He wasn’t about to let exhaustion end the moment. He wrapped his hand around the back of Dorian’s neck so that when his strength gave way and he fell, they fell as one. Their teeth bumped together when they fell into the thin cot.

Dorian chuckled softly. “You should rest,” he chastised.

Lucien refused to release his grip. He nipped Dorian’s lower lip and pulled him closer. “You said you were here to help. This is helping.”

Lucien felt a puff of hot air as Dorian let out another silent laugh. A swipe of his tongue against Lucien’s lips was all the prompting Lucien needed to open his mouth. Dorian tilted his head to deepen the kiss. While his tongue worked at a languid pace, his hands ran along the planes of Lucien’s body. Heat blossomed everywhere those hands went and banished any residual cold in the exposure bitten flesh. That warmth pooled in Lucien’s abdomen. He sighed and unconsciously slackened his grip. Dorian used the opportunity to slip free and trapped Lucien under a heavy pile of blankets. Lucien raised a questioning eyebrow.

“So the Elder One was truly a Magister turned darkspawn?” Dorian asked.

Lucien snorted. There truly was no end to the man’s curiosity. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now? I’ll try not to take that personally.”

“It’s just- when you first said it, I had rather hoped you were delirious from nearly dying. To hear you say it again is disheartening, to say the least.”

“Believe me, it’s not exactly the kind of thing I’d suggest if there was any other explanation.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Dorian sighed. “I always knew we couldn’t have the whole truth but I didn’t think it was too much to hope that in that one thing, at least, we were innocent. But, no. It was us all along. We destroyed the world.”

Lucien draped an arm over his face. He wanted to protest, to put a positive spin on things, but he was having a hard time seeing any light through the clouds that had gathered over them. Any optimism he might have had left had shattered before the memory of Corypheus and the nightmare that had followed. He felt like a rot at the center of the Inquisition. A rot that was spreading, from the sound of things. They might have a better chance of saving what was left if they could at least stop fighting amongst ourselves.

He nodded his head in the direction of shouting outside of the tent. “How long have they been at it?”

“Hours. As I said, your return caused quite a stir.”

“How did you all find me, anyway? I remember falling and… a mine, I think? Then snow and nothing. Just endless night. Certainly not anything that made me think I was going to wake up anywhere other than a snow bank, if at all.”

“The Bride of the Maker came to Cassandra as she prayed. Andraste put the light of truth into your Seeker’s breast and guided her to you.”

Lucien’s arm fell from his eyes. “You’re joking.”

“Well, that’s not exactly how it will be written when they get to your verse in the Chant, of course,  but that’s more or less how you’ll hear the tale about camp.”

“And the truth?”

“Less glamorous, I’m afraid. Cassandra had indeed stopped to pray for guidance. When she bowed her head, she noticed your phylactery glowing and knew you had to still be alive. She left in such a rush, I’m not surprised stories sprang up in her wake and even less surprised that those stories grew in their telling when she returned in short order with you in tow. No one seems to recall the dashing mage who carried you.”

“You were there with her?”

“She might not have been praying so much as asking the Maker for the strength to resist the temptation to punch a mouthy Tevinter in the jaw.”

Lucien didn’t need to ask Dorian what he’d been fighting with Cassandra about, considering Lucien had received a small taste of that argument himself. It hadn’t been Cassandra’s decision to knock Dorian out but Lucien was sure that fact did little to soften the blow, literal or otherwise.

He smirked. “So, really, yours was the voice of divine inspiration that lead to my rescue.”

“Feel free to give me an appropriate offering in thanks later.”

“I believe I was in the process of preparing just such an offering when you started talking about darkspawn of all things.”

“Which is why I said ‘later.’ We’ve but thin fabric walls separating us from your adoring followers. I know you’ve set your mind on throwing caution to the wind but perhaps we could keep the blaspheming to a minimum for the time being. Not fan the flames at least until the air of zealotry has cleared a bit.”

“Well then, I suppose I ought to work on calming things down.”

Lucien wriggled free from his covers and moved to stand but Dorian caught him by the shoulders. “I’m sure they’ll all still be arguing long enough yet for you to rest properly first.”

“I’m not going to be able to rest until I know we won’t all rip each other to shreds and finish what Corypheus started in Haven.”

It might have made for an impressive proclamation had he not swayed the moment he found his feet. Dorian caught him with a supportive hand and a disapproving glare.

“If you are going to insist on being foolish, then I suppose someone will have to stay with you so you don’t fall on your face. Provided, of course, you don’t plan on knocking me out again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Lucien took measured steps forward. As long as he tempered his pace, he could keep himself from wobbling as he walked. Dorian kept half a step behind him. Whenever Lucien faltered, he found a steadying hand at his back.

Upon exiting the tent, he got his first good look at the Inquisition’s survivors. There were those who seemed in good health, milling about. Far more had succumbed to exhaustion or worse. Hastily raised tents were filled with the wounded and those who tended to them. Nearly every level surface had been turned into a makeshift bed for the weary. Lucien felt a pang of guilt for his comparatively comfortable accommodations, a pang which only worsened when people started to take note of his appearance.

A frail, wisp of a woman fell to her knees in the snow before him. “Herald,” she gasped. “The Herald is awake.”

Somehow her tremulous voice not only carried over the continued shouting but snuffed it out altogether. A hush swept the camp as every eye turned toward Lucien. Cassandra and the others stood at the forefront of it all. The four of them actually looked relieved for the distraction.

Well, that was one way to stop them all from arguing.

Heads poked out of tents and all but the most gravely injured roused to peer at him. A myriad of emotions lit the sea of faces turned toward him. Apprehension. Relief. Curiosity. To his horror, there were others who followed the woman’s example and knelt before him. For all the open awe, just as many eyed him with open distrust. Then there were those like Mother Giselle who were waiting, unreadable.

Lucien swallowed hard. He was standing on a knife’s edge. He didn’t want to push anyone toward further fanaticism nor did he wish to fan the flames of suspicion.

“After everything that just happened- and I’m sure not for the first time- you all probably wish I hailed from somewhere else. Anywhere else. And I’m not here to convince you of Tevinter’s virtues, though it has more than you might imagine. Given that many of you likely imagine it has none at all, I suppose that’s not saying much.”

His feeble attempt at a joke fell predictably flat. He was wretched at speeches. It was one of countless reasons he’d always loathed the idea of joining the Magisterium. To think he’d ever worried himself over having a hand in the fate of a single nation. Thedas needed the Inquisition to stop Corypheus and it would seem the Inquisition needed him. He may not have had Andraste or the Maker whispering in his ear, but he still had someone at his back as the featherlight press of Dorian’s hand reminded him.

“Whatever else I might be, whatever else you might think of me,” he continued, “I’m not Corypheus. I have no interest in divinity nor in recreating the empire of old. Corypheus would force all of Thedas into mindless submission under a single banner. If the Inquisition is going to stop him, it won’t be because of me, it will be because of us- what we all represent together. We are human, elf, dwarf, and even Qunari. We are mage and mundane. We are Fereldan and Orlesian, Nevarran and Marcher, Antivan and, yes, Tevinter. We can let those differences fracture us or we can let the fires of Haven forge us into something better. We are not gods but together we might stop a monster who thinks he can become one. There is still hope if you know where to look for it.”

Lucien had done his best to avoid looking at the many faces around him as he spoke, afraid that he might lose the words if he saw one had gone foul. When he looked back at those who listened to him he saw a subtle shift. The keenest edge of despair had gone. In its place, anticipation. For some that meant they were looking forward again. Maybe they couldn’t see the way just yet but at least they were sure it was there. For others- not a majority by any stretch but too many for Lucien’s comfort- that meant they were looking at their Herald as though they expected him to produce another miracle.

Well, they’d have to be disappointed. The best he could offer them was an example.

Dorian handed Lucien a staff which allowed him to walk on his own without seeming overly much like he was going to collapse at any moment. It was a fragile illusion, so Dorian still lingered close. Lucien wasn’t sure what he was searching for until he found it.

He carefully lowered himself into a crouch at Roderick’s side. Cole scuttled to the opposite side of the prone man. Lucien was amazed the chancellor was still alive. Then again, the man always had been a stubborn old goat.

“Not dead afterall,” Roderick said between wheezing breaths.

The corner of Lucien’s mouth pulled up into a lopsided smile. He felt a wholly unexpected tightness in his chest. “You won’t be rid of me so easily, I’m afraid.”

Roderick laughed. It was a wet sound that left a red froth on his dry, cracked lips. “Good,” he croaked. “I’m sorry.”

“What in the world are you apologizing for, Roderick?”

“I didn’t believe. I couldn’t. I would have seen you executed, but you really are her Herald. You stood against those monsters, would have died for all of us but Andraste saved you once again and guided you back to where you’re needed. I hope you can forgive an old man for doubting. I had to see.”

Lucien couldn’t bring himself to dash that final ray of hope. Let a dying man think he was sent by the Maker if it made the passing easier. “It’s forgotten,” he said. “Don’t let it trouble you any longer.”

“Thank you.”

Those final words were barely audible as they relied on Roderick’s final breaths. They were his release and he died almost as soon as the final syllable was spoken. Lucien swept a hand over Roderick’s eyes to close them. Another for the pyre that night.

“It was a stain he didn’t know how to clean. You made it go away.” Cole. He leaned forward on his haunches, his owl eyes never blinking. “There’s still so much pain. You made them remember they can make it better. They can help. I want to help too. I’ll stay.”

Say what he would, Cole vanished a moment later. Lucien scrubbed his free hand across his face. He was too tired for this.

“Just what is he, I wonder,” Dorian said, gesturing to the space once occupied by the boy. “Whatever else he might be, he’s right. You’ve inspired them.”

Lucien used his staff to pull himself to his feet. All around him the camp was filled with renewed energy. People were doing their best to ease their neighbors’ suffering. It wasn’t much. Most of what could be done already had been but the ability to look to others instead of at their own fears was enough to lift heads higher.

“I wish the Maker really was guiding me,” Lucien sighed. “We’ll need more than hope if we’re going to survive out here much longer.”

“I don’t know if I can offer divine counsel but perhaps I can be of service all the same.”

Lucien would have jumped if he’d had the energy. Solas had materialized as silently as Cole. The elf smiled wryly.

“A word, if you would.”

Would he or wouldn’t he, Solas didn’t wait for Lucien’s reply. The elf strode away from camp with a purpose. Lucien had no choice but to follow if he didn’t want to lose sight of Sols. He stopped only to offer Dorian a parting glance.

Dorian waved him on. “Go. I suppose I should see if all these fuzzy feelings you’ve inspired extend to me as well, or if there’s an one evil magister limit.”

Lucien reached out to give Dorian’s hand an affectionate squeeze and then hurried after Solas. He hoped whatever the elf had in store for him that it was good. He didn’t think he had anymore rousing speeches left in him.


	14. Mired in Controversy

Skyhold had been their salvation. They had too many injured to survive for long at the mercy of the elements. More than that, it grounded their hope. It was easy to imagine the future as more than a dream with a roof over your head, crumbling though it may be. Finding it had been a godsend. Quite literally, if some of the rank and file in the Inquisition were asked. Despite the fact that Solas had been the one to guide Lucien to the ancient fortress, many added it to the growing list of miracles granted to aid the cause of Andraste’s Herald.

Lucien had done his best to keep their fervor at a minimum but Haven had been a tipping point. Whether or not they believed in the Chantry, more and more people believed in him. It was useful in that there was a dramatic increase in the number of people who readily glossed over the fact that he was Tevinter. However, the more attention he drew, the more likely it became that some of that attention would be very negative.

As the Inquisition toiled to bring form to ancient rubble, Lucien couldn’t help but feel that growing infamy meant he was in the way. He’d tried to help at the start. However, he brought a commotion everywhere he went. He also hadn’t ever exactly had to do much by way of manual labor in his life before the Inquisition and even with all the other mages around, people were a little twitchy about him using magic to help with the reconstruction. It was bad enough that he quickly realized if he wanted to help speed up renovations, the best thing he could do would be to get far away.

The perfect opportunity presented itself in the form of a batch of missing Inquisition scouts. Far less perfect was the fact that they’d disappeared in the aptly named Fallow Mire. It was a wretched, filthy pit far from anything truly resembling civilization. The only thing he was liable to gain from this adventure were boots ruined by black, plague ridden sludge and a healthy desire to never step foot near anything described as a mire again.

And a cold, he realised as he sneezed for the fourth time in nearly as many minutes. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms but even with the aid of magic, it did little to combat the bone chilling freeze put into his flesh by the ceaseless rain. He groaned and tugged his cloak tighter.

Not far away, Dorian did the same.

“What do they call this? A bog? Lovely word,” he said dryly. “If I fall ill and die, I’m haunting you all.”

Lucien laughed, though he felt much the same. Sera, meanwhile, seemed far less amused. She stopped and jabbed a rather insistent finger into Dorian’s chest.

“No more ghosts or spirits or.... weirdy things out of you,” the elf snapped.

Dorian held up his hands defensively. “It was a joke. A jest! If I die and become a ghost, the last place I’m haunting is a bog. I’m going somewhere warm. And sunny. And _warm_.”

“Don’t want to hear it. You’ve been scaring off corpses.”

“Would you rather the corpses come closer? It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m merely taking advantage of the extremely thin Veil in this area to call in spirits, so that-”

Sera stuck her fingers in her ears and started to hum. “Shut it. I told you no more weird stuff. What part of scaring bloody walking corpses isn’t weird?”

“Really, if you would just listen, I think you would find the process is actually quite interesting.”

“I’ve heard all about what your interesting magic can do. I’ve been watching you. Got an arrow with your name on it.”

She reached back and fished an arrow from her quiver. She held it out defiantly in front of Dorian. Sure enough, his name was scrawled there on the shaft. Quite literally, an arrow with his name on it. Lucien stepped in between the two and held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. He offered his most disarming smile, which- at least against Dorian- was quite an effective tactic.

“Sera, why don’t you go ahead with Blackwall and see that there’s a good fire going back in camp. I’m sure we’d all like to get dry.”

“Right, oh Herald. As you command,” Sera replied with a roll of her eyes.

She gave a dramatic bow, complete with quite a bit of flailing her arms. She might not have sounded enthusiastic but it was quite clear she was happy to follow that particular order. ‘Fire’ and ‘dry’ where both exceptionally appealing words at the moment. She practically skipped off with Blackwall in tow.

“If it makes you feel any better, Sera threatened me with the same thing,” Lucien said once the others were out of sight. “Plus, you only got the one. She has a whole batch of them for Vivienne. I’ve seen her work on them any time she needs to refill her quiver.”

“Have I mentioned what charming friends you’ve made here?” Dorian asked dryly.

“Well, you can’t expect them to compare to the friends I had back home. Certainly not when it comes to charm.”

“Or looks. Or intelligence.”

“Or an impressive sense of self awareness, clearly,” Lucien sniggered.

“Obviously.”

The edges of Lucien’s mustache quirked up along with his mouth. He glided closer and laced his hands behind Dorian’s back. When he leaned in for a kiss, though, Dorian recoiled. His nose crinkled about the nostrils.

“You smell like _bog_ ,” he said, filling the final word with more disdain than three letters should be able to contain.

“What, and you don’t?” Lucien buried his face in the crook of Dorian’s neck and breathed deeply. He pulled back and examined Dorian with wide eyes. “You don’t. How in the Maker’s name did you manage that? If you’d been any closer to some of those undead I might have gotten jealous.”

“Just one of my many charms.”

“I suppose those of us less gifted people will have to rely on a good bath back in Skyhold. Though I’m not sure those pitiable basins deserve the word. Do you remember the baths in Vyrantium? Not as large as the ones in Minrathous or Qarinus, perhaps, but-” Lucien hummed in pleasure as he summoned the memory as a ward against the frigid rain. “The way the steam would absolutely fill the calidarium and distort the view out to the bay into a dream. Those vapors would cling to your skin and fill your lungs, every muscle unwinding in that heat until you are just about as liquid as the water around you.”

Dorian’s eyes had drifted shut during Lucien’s little monologue. His face was near rapturous. His grip had tightened and fingers dug into Lucien’s arms. Lucien didn’t need to get into Dorian’s mind to know he wasn’t thinking of the other luxuries of the baths- the sumptuous marble, gorgeous statues, or glittering mosaics. No, he was thinking of bodies made pliant by oiled massages, of flesh piqued and senses reawakened by dipping into the cooler waters of the other pools, and- if he was anything like Lucien- a few other choice memories besides.

“You’re a cruel man, Trevelyan,” he groaned.

“We all have our talents, Pavus,” Lucien retorted. “If you don’t appreciate that little taste of home, I might offer another.”

Dorian stole more than a taste. Lucien’s breath hitched in his throat. By the time they broke apart, his head was spinning and his lungs ached for want of air. He’d still have gone back for more had the distant sound of squelching mud not brought them to a halt. It was a faint thing but they’d both heard it more than enough recently to know exactly what it meant. That was the sound of a foot pulling itself free of the wet earth. It was in the opposite direction from camp. There was a slim chance it was an Avvar. If it wasn’t, there was really only one alternative. They stepped apart and readied for yet more undead.

Dorian sighed. “This one’s yours. I’d dispatch the blighted thing myself but I have it on good authority that I risk an arrow in my ass.”

“We certainly can’t have that.”

Lucien winked and grabbed his staff from the sling on his back. He twirled it lazily while he waited for a corpse to shamble out of the gloom. Instead of the undead, a lumbering bogfisher emerged from the dark. It’s oversized feet flapped against the mud. When it drew closer, it tilted one beady eye toward the Tevinters.

It might not have been what he expected, but Lucien didn’t lower his guard. They’d accidentally gotten on the bad side of the creatures early in their expedition through the Mire. He was still favoring one side because he’d been barrelled over by a charging bogfisher and only Blackwall’s quick defense with his shield had saved him from gnashing jaws. The beasts’ thick hides had made them more trouble to fell than some of the demons they’d run across. Even the undead left the bogfishers unharassed despite their proclivity to water.

Luckily this beast had no interest in a pair of wet, shivering mages. It ambled on and disappeared across the road. There was a continued chorus of slapping steps in the mud and then a splash in otherwise still water that announced the bogfisher’s exit.

Dorian walked to Lucien’s side. He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

“You know,” he said, “It strikes me that we’ve been out here alone for quite some time and yet no one has come to check up on us.”

“They’re probably all warm by a fire or in their tents already. I wouldn’t come out to check on us either. And it hasn’t been all that long.”

“When I met up with you again in Redcliffe, you had to argue for even a moment alone. Aside from our little jaunt into the future, you’ve had someone dogging your steps any time you strayed from Haven. Yet, here you are, all alone with the other evil Magister. Your Seeker even elected to stay back in Skyhold. Needed elsewhere, she said, as if there hadn’t been plenty of other things she could have spent her time on before, aside from playing your shadow.”

“What’s your point, Dorian?”

“My point is, they finally trust you. And all you had to do was die for them. A shame I’m not in good enough with the Maker to try the same.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop worrying about them turning on me?”

“Never. But it does mean we might be able to scrape a bit of time together.”

Dorian stopped mid step as he moved to grab Lucien.

Lucien cocked his head. “What is it?”

“I heard something.”

With his ears now perked, Lucien heard it too- the unmistakable sound of footfalls sloshing through the muck. Lucien waved it off.

“I’m sure it’s just another bogfisher.”

“No,” a yet unseen woman said. “It’s not.”

Lucien squinted his eyes just in time to catch light glinting off the emblazoned image of a sword of mercy. He was all too familiar with the symbol and what it meant. That had been one of his first lessons with the Inquisition and if he hadn’t learned it then, the attack on Haven had driven it home.

He readied his staff but too late. A brilliant flash of white blinded the two men and forced them to their knees. Another and everything went black.

Lucien didn’t know how long he was out, only that when consciousness started to return, he was no longer outside. He was in one of the burnt out hovels that dotted the Fallow Mire and he wasn’t alone. He rolled his head to the side and was greeted by the milky gaze of a bloated corpse. The sight disturbed an already uneasy stomach. Bile burned up his throat.

Unpleasant as that was, it roused him further. He tried to sit up but his cloak had been peeled off of him and used to tie his arms behind his back. In that position, he didn’t have the energy to right himself. He used his feet to push himself partially up the wall at his back. He was able to see over the corpse to where Dorian was lying.

Dorian was crumpled at an odd angle. His head lolled listlessly on his shoulder. There was a smear of mud from the door that lead to both their feet. They must have been dragged in and worse, judging by the thin trail of blood that matted Dorian’s mustache.

Lucien stretched out his leg to try to nudge Dorian. A boot stomped down and stopped him. It crushed down on his shin. He ground his teeth to hold back a cry.

He looked up. A broad shouldered Templar loomed above him. Her auburn hair was cut in a strict line that accented a strong jaw. A wide patch of puckered skin marked a long healed burn that was only partially concealed at the neck of her armor.

“I know you,” Lucien croaked, as much to himself as the woman who sneered at him.

He winced at the scratch of his voice against a painfully dry throat. The Templar’s lip curled.

“You know nothing of me, Tevinter.”

“No. You’re with the Inquisition. One of Cullen’s people.”

“I am no one’s.”

“I just meant-”

“I know what you meant.”

“Hildred. Your name is Hildred, isn’t it? You helped show me around Haven. We used to talk.”

“Don’t address me like we’re friends.”

Her armored boot dug into his leg until Lucien could no longer keep from shouting out. The sound caused Dorian to stir which was enough to silence Lucien. He didn’t want Dorian to wake and draw attention to himself.

“Alright,” Lucien said through grit teeth. “Can you at least tell me what this is about?”

Hildred stepped off Lucien’s leg and it curled reflexively against his body. She circled around and drew her blade. The sword was held before his face. It was difficult to focus on anything other than that glinting point but Lucien did his best to look the Templar in the eyes. She glowered down at him.

“I had a life I was proud of. I served the Maker. When the Order forsook its duty, I joined the Inquisition and found a renewed purpose. Then you came.” Her hand shook and the blade gashed erratically through flesh. Lucien hissed. Blood dripped into his right eye, painting his vision a blurry red. Hildred didn’t seem to notice or care. “You would twist the Inquisition into something monstrous,” she snarled. “I’ve seen the way people have been looking at you, the things they’ve been saying. They all think Andraste chose you- you, a Tevinter- as her champion. That is the vilest blasphemy.”

“I’ve never said I was chosen.”

“I don’t care what you say. History shows us what it’s like to live in a world where people would throw themselves at the feet of Magisters. Our Lady fought against it. I can do no less. I won’t stand by and watch that happen here.”

Her sword dipped lower through the course of her speech. It hung not far from Lucien’s neck. His heart hammered in his ears. He tried to draw on his mana but it was hard to concentrate and even if he could, it seemed his powers were still hampered. If he wanted to stall his fate, he’d have to rely on more mundane means. He needed to keep the conversation going long enough for his powers to return.

“That’s good,” he said. “Even Tevinter could use a bit less of the throwing yourselves at the feet of Magisters thing. I certainly don’t want the rest of Thedas to follow suit.”

Hildred’s eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter what you say now, does it? Heard you say as much before but I didn’t see you stopping anyone kneeling before you.”

The sword pressed against his throat. He felt like he was tempting fate by so much as swallowing much less speaking. Yet, he had to resist in whatever way he could. Not only would he lose his life if he didn’t but Dorian would surely follow soon after. He would not allow that.

“You could have killed me earlier but you didn’t. Something is holding you back. You don’t want to do this.”

“I didn’t kill you because I’m no fool. I know that hand of yours is the only thing that can seal these Rifts. I won’t save the world from one disaster only to condemn it to another.”

Hildred sheathed her sword and Lucien breathed a sigh of relief. That was, until he saw her fish something from the sash at her waist. His blood froze in his veins. His horror must have shown in his face because it was met with a vicious grin.

“I see you know what this is, Tevinter,” she said, twisting a lyrium brand between her fingers. “Any good Templar knows how to deal with a mage and keep them useful.”

Several things happened then, all at once. Lucien rolled to the side as Hildred bent toward him. The Templar was intercepted by the corpse which was no longer a lifeless feature at Lucien’s side. Meanwhile, Dorian came dashing over. He was unsteady on his feet but since Hildred had neglected to tie him up, he was free to help Lucien. Lucien shifted so that Dorian could get access to the bindings. Hildred was not so occupied by the undead that opposed her that she would allow the mages to do as they would. She lashed out and her gauntleted fist struck Dorian in the jaw.

Dorian was knocked flat but he had a chance to recover as the frenzied corpse redoubled its onslaught. Dorian spat blood on the floor and held his jaw. Lucien could feel the Veil distort to allow the passage of more spirits. The Templar’s eyes went wide as an unnatural fear gripped her heart. The corpse gained an advantage as Hildred’s attacks grew increasingly wild.

Lucien tested and found that, yes, his own powers had returned. He wasn’t yet at full strength but it was enough. He froze Hildred’s feet in place and the undead toppled her over. She managed to skewer the corpse but Dorian had summoned a dread that was not so easily dispelled. She thrashed futilely at invisible horrors.

She was still thrashing on the floor, frozen in place, when the door burst open. Blackwall charged through, followed by Sera, a number of the Inquisition scouts they’d rescued, and that Avvar, Sky Watcher. One of the scouts barreled to the lead, daggers bared, and looked abashed when she realized the fight was all but over.

“We saw signs of a struggle and came to repay the favor. Should have known you wouldn’t need rescuing,” she said. She melted back into the crowd and retrieved a pair of staves. “Found these on the ground.”

Lucien retrieved his staff with a gracious nod and handed the other to Dorian.

“Well done, Herald. You truly have a god’s favor,” Sky Watcher laughed.

The massive Avvar clapped Lucien on the back and nearly knocked him to the ground. Dorian offered a supportive shoulder, though his eyes remained locked on Hildred. Blackwall edged over to the fallen woman and nudged her nervously with his boot.

“What do you want us to do with this one?” he asked Lucien.

“Bind her,” Lucien answered. “Skyhold has cells. Maybe it’s time we use them. And treat her well. Just… keep her away from me, if you could, please?”

He stooped to the floor to retrieve his cloak. It had torn when Dorian removed it from around his wrists. It was also covered in mud and blood and had collected a new array of charming aromas, but he wasn’t about to leave it behind while the sky continued to empty itself upon the land.

Blackwall and a pair of scouts restrained Hildred with some difficulty. She was still insensible from fear and they had to dodge flailing arms. Another hurdle presented itself in the form of her frozen feet. If they pulled her free, they were likely to snap her legs at the ankle. Blackwall lifted a hopeful brow at the mages. Dorian sighed dramatically. Rather than dispel the magic, he threw a small fireball. It melted the ice and burnt Hildred’s skirt at the same time.

“Here,” Sera said.

She tossed both of the mages a potion. Lucien’s left leg was excruciating to stand on. He thought it was likely fractured, in which case the potion would only do part of the job. Still, he’d be happy to walk without significant pain. He’d be happier still to see Dorian rid of the livid bruise that had formed on his jaw.

“Not going to scold me for that? Threaten me with arrows?” Dorian asked after he downed his potion in a gulp. He nodded his head toward the screaming Templar as she was hauled away.

Sera shrugged. “Didn’t see you do anything. Right? Right.”

The elf marched out after the party escorting Hildred back to camp. Lucien turned just in time to see Dorian pocket something.

“What was that?” Lucien asked.

“What was what?” Dorian replied.

Lucien shook his head. Whatever it was, it wasn’t important enough to argue about. Not now. His fingers ghosted over Dorian’s jaw and up over his scalp. Any serious injury seemed to have been dealt with. That was a relief.

Dorian leaned briefly into the light touch. His eyes shone in the firelight with unshed tears. He blinked away the unbidden show of emotion and instead offered a wry smile. “You should be glad I’ve started to develop a resistance to being savagely beaten over the head.”

“You don’t need to tell me you’re hard-headed.”

“Such a scathing tongue from the man I just rescued.”

“I’m sure my tongue could be put to better use if you’d like proper thanks.”

Dorian straightened out Lucien’s collar and smoothed his cloak. Grey eyes raked down in an appraising glance. “You can thank me by taking a bath.”

 

“All alone? You wouldn’t leave me in this trying time, would you?”

  
Lucien was surprised to see that Dorian’s jocular mask had slipped again. There was the slightest tremble in those smiling lips. “Come see me when you no longer smell like death.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stole a bit about Roman baths to give a bit of Tevinter flavor.


	15. On the Brink of Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very long delay in getting this out. Thankfully, Trespasser helped bump me out of my writer's block.

Long, smooth strides carried Leliana along a graceful path in front of Lucien’s desk. Her eyes glinted from beneath her ever present hood. She had the air of an interrogator even as she relayed information.

“Though our Commander recruited her in Kirkwall, it would appear she’s originally from a small village in Nevarra, near the border with Tevinter. It is, to this day, a disputed area between the two nations and slavers made frequent raids. She joined the Order young as a way to escape from it all.”

“I see.”

Lucien sighed and sank into his chair. He rubbed slow circles at his temples. He found it increasingly difficult to focus on what Leliana had to say about Hildred. By all accounts, the woman had been a fine Templar- fair with mages, if a tad strict, and always eager to serve. No doubt, should the Herald have been anyone else, she’d still have been lending her skills to the Inquisition. Instead, she was languishing in the dungeons.

It was silly for Lucien to feel guilty about it. Dorian had emphatically outlined all the reasons why and Lucien certainly didn’t need a reminder of everything that had transpired, least of all the fact that he’d been a hair’s breadth away from being made Tranquil. Again. But feel guilty he did.

“If it was up to you, what would you have done with her?” Leliana asked.

“Couldn’t she hunt Venatori? It would help us and it seems like something she’d enjoy.”

“Even after what she tried to do?”

“Sure. I mean, there are Venatori somewhere… not here, right? Somewhere far away?”

Leliana folded her hands neatly behind her back. Her face was unreadable, unnervingly so. Then again, unnerving was what she excelled at.

“Thank you for your input, Herald,” she said. She paused on her way to the door and turned around. “I nearly forgot. It’s well past time you got this back, don’t you think?”

A golden chain fell smoothly from her fingers. The first time she had greeted Lucien with that sight, he’d felt his insides freeze. This time he had quite the opposite reaction. His face broke into a wide smile. He stood so suddenly that he had to grab his chair to keep it from toppling over. He caught his amulet in cupped hands. A shiver of magic ran through his digits as they graced the surface. It sang of ages of history and power and home.

“Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t think I would see it again after Corypheus’ attack.”

“Then it is fortunate that I kept it on hand.”

“Waiting for just the right moment to return it? So what am I being buttered up for?”

Leliana smiled sweetly and notably didn’t deny the suggestion. “There will be a meeting in the War Room with the rest of the Inquisition’s inner circle.”

“You were right to bribe me.”

Lucien thought back to his early days in Haven. He felt bored just thinking about another meeting. He’d been free of them for some time. There had been strategy sessions, of course, but those were beasts of another sort. However, when it came to the tedious minutia of running the Inquisition, he’d been blessedly excluded since he was revealed to the world as Tevinter. It had been decided that it was the best way to preserve the Inquisition from the appearance of undue influence from his homeland. He would serve as Herald and nothing more. He’d been more than happy to just be a symbol if it meant he got out of those damned meetings. He should have known it was too good to last. At least he wouldn’t be suffering alone.

“Well then, when should I arrive?” he asked.

“We will convene in an hour.”

Leliana dipped her head and left. Lucien eyed the bed once she was gone. He was half tempted to try for a nap so that he wouldn’t fall asleep during the meeting. Although, he had to admit, he was intrigued. The Inquisition’s inner circle was quite the varied group. He couldn’t think of a time when they’d all been together in one room. It could actually be interesting.

At any rate, he didn’t truly have time for a break. He walked back to his desk where a thick stack of letters was awaiting his reply. His entire family had sent messages along. They all had quite a lot to say on the matter of his supposed return from the dead. None of them thought he was some divine figurehead but they all agreed he was divinely lucky. Or unlucky. There wasn’t entirely a consensus on that one.

Lucien wasn’t overwhelmed solely by the unexpected influx of care from his family. Along with all the well wishes came other news. Some was practical, like his mother’s reassurance that supplies would still be incoming from Tevinter in a few weeks’ time. Some was sobering. Felix, it seemed, had finally passed.

A welcome voice broke Lucien from his melancholic musing.

“Did I spy your spymaster exiting your quarters?” Lucien looked up to see Dorian standing at the center of the room, one hand planted on his hip. His fellow altus joined him at his desk. “Should I be worried about a rival? Or a dagger in my back, perhaps?”

“Nonsense,” Lucien replied with a grin. “Leliana is far too subtle for something as gauche as a dagger.”

He circled around the desk and the two of them sat on the edge. Dorian threw back his head and let out a single sharp laugh. His hand wandered thoughtlessly until it ended up on Lucien’s thigh where Dorian traced lazy lines along the contour of muscle under fabric.

“I see. And what oh so subtle means has she employed to garner your rapt attention?”

Lucien unfurled his fingers to reveal the amulet still clutched in his hands. There was something wistful in the way Dorian examined the serpentine pendant. He scooped it up into his own hands. Lucien bowed his head, allowing Dorian to drape the chain over his neck where it hung, heavier than such a small thing should have been. Dorian’s hand lingered, first over the pendant and then a short drop to Lucien’s chest. Lucien’s heart beat against that open palm.

“How did your family birthright end up in Leliana’s hands?” Dorian asked.

Lucien bit the inside of his cheek and turned his head. “I might have been caught wearing it when I fell unconscious after my first attempt to close the Breach.”

“ _Venhedis_. After everything you said about being careful, you truly went south with that hanging about your neck?”

“I know it was foolish but you can’t fault me for a touch of sentimentality can you?” Lucien rubbed the back of his neck. He tried to ignore the flush of warmth in his ears and instead focused on Dorian. His hands reversed the trail the other man had traced. His fingertips grazed over Dorian’s chest and up to the nape of his neck, where they paused. “Or perhaps you could. It seems you had the wisdom to leave your own amulet behind.”

“Ah.” Dorian pulled his hands back to himself. “I sold it, actually.”

“You-” Lucien held his tongue and stilled. He’d been about to ask why but he knew enough to guess. Still, it was a bit of surprise that it had come to that. He remembered all the little signs he’d noted since their reunion, signs of something horrible. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dorian shook his head. “Just… leave me with it for now. I can’t. Not today.”

“You heard about Felix then, I take it?” When Dorian nodded, Lucien used the grip on Dorian’s neck to pull him in closer so that their foreheads were resting against each other. “I’m so sorry, Dorian.”

“He was ill, and thus on borrowed time anyhow.”

“That doesn't mean you can't regret his death.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence after that, their heads still pressed together. There was a knot in Lucien’s chest that only pulled tighter the more time passed. If his heart ached, he couldn’t imagine what Dorian was going through. For Lucien, Felix had simply been a friend. He was so much more to Dorian. Alexius had taken Dorian in when he most needed it. He’d found not just a renewed purpose and sense of direction but a new lease on life. Those people had been Dorian’s real family, more than the individuals tied to a pawned birthright could ever be.

Maker, Alexius. He’d recently been transferred to the Inquisition’s care. Judging a Magister was more trouble than the beleaguered king of Ferelden wanted to deal with and so Alexius had been passed along. Had he been told of his son’s fate? He deserved to know. Lucien couldn’t do much, but he could do that. He certainly wasn’t going to put that responsibility on Dorian.

Even unvocalized, those thoughts seemed to press at Dorian. He sat straight and stared blankly into the distance.

“Felix was the best of us. With him around, you knew things could be better,” he said, voice strained. “Did you know, he really did go to the Magisterium as promised. Stood on the senate floor and told them of you. A glowing testimonial, I'm informed.”

A half smile was all Lucien could muster. “So I’ve been told.”

“Felix always was as good as his word.” Dorian leaned in to briefly touch foreheads once more. “Tell your family… thank them for me, if you could. It was good of them to make sure he wasn’t alone.”

“Of course.”

Silence dropped on them like a shroud once more. Lucien considered the ever lengthening reach of the sun through the windows. The meeting in the War Room drew ever closer. He couldn’t go while Dorian was in such a mood. Though he couldn’t make up for everything Dorian had been through- everything he had put the man through- he was determined to try. Little by little, he would do what he could.

“As you said, Felix brought hope. Maker knows the world could use that right now. Maybe that’s how he’ll live on- as an inspiration to others.”

“Should I spread the word? We could spawn the Cult of Felix within a matter of days.”

“There are worse things. The cult that seems to be forming around me, for one.”

That elicited a laugh. It was barely more than an exaggerated exhalation, but it was something.

“Oh, I don’t know. Your cult’s not so bad,” Dorian remarked. “Just look what being Herald got you. When you first mentioned you’d been stuck at the top of a tower and I saw the condition of said tower, I expected some sort of recreation of the south’s dismal little mage prisons. But no. Stained glass windows. A fireplace. A real bed! I will grant it’s Orlesian, but it certainly beats a cot in a closet with a leaky roof overhead. I’m more handsome, far more charismatic- why is it I haven’t got a cult?”

“You can have mine if you’d like.”

“Ha! No thank you. I’ve seen what yours has tried to do to you.” Dorian glanced at the door. “Which reminds me, actually, I should be going. There’s something I need to fetch before this little gathering of ours.”

“A pillow? I’ve seen the War Table. It’s big enough that it could probably be a respectable bed.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Dorian replied, a glint in his eye. With a wave of his hand, he was gone.

Lucien stared after him for a moment, wondering what Dorian had planned. If nothing else, the meeting might not be quite so dull as Lucien had feared but that hardly reassured him. He hadn’t failed to notice the dark rings under Dorian’s eyes. He couldn’t have been sleeping well. The messengers from Tevinter had only come that day, so it couldn’t have been due to the tidings about Felix. The molten pit of redoubled guilt in Lucien’s gut told him that it wasn’t poor bedding that troubled Dorian.

* * *

 

It was every bit as odd as Lucien had expected to see all of the Inquisition’s inner circle gathered together in one place. A collection of chairs had been gathered, as mismatched as the company they were intended for, but not everyone was seated. At least not in the chairs. Cole was perched on a window ledge. Sera was seated on the edge of the grand War Table. Vivienne stood, seemingly torn between a desire to be as far from Sera as possible and close to the center of the action. Dorian lounged in a grand armchair not far from where Varric sat on a stool that looked to have been pilfered from the tavern. Next to the dwarf, and most surprising of all, stood Hawke in gleaming obsidian armor.

The Champion had been in Skyhold for nearly a week and yet Lucien had rarely seen her. After years of being on the run with her notorious apostate lover, Varric claimed she just wasn’t fond of crowds. Lucien suspected it was also a courtesy on her part. Her exploits had made waves even in Tevinter, where she was celebrated both for successfully taking on the Qunari and the southern Chantry. She caused a stir wherever she went, especially amongst the rebel mages, some of whom followed her around a bit like she was the Maker returned.

Suddenly more interested in what was to come, Lucien picked his way through the crowd and found a place next to Dorian. He chose not to grab a seat but instead leaned against Dorian’s chair.

He was the last to arrive and, with him, the proceedings could begin at last. Josephine cleared her throat politely to put an end to the increasingly loud and impatient chatter. All eyes turned to the ambassador where she stood amongst the four founders of the Inquisition.

“I suppose you are all wondering why we’ve gathered you here?” she said.

“Is it a party?” Sera chirped. “I think we all deserve a friggin’ party after what Coryphytits put us through.”

“Surely we’re not all needed here for this?” Vivienne asked.

“Right. I’m sure Madame Fancypants has better things to do. Like not be here.”

Blackwall stepped in before the situation escalated. He whispered something in Sera’s ear that left her laughing raucously but silenced any further squabbling with Vivienne. Blackwall bowed low and Josephine smiled at him appreciatively.

“As I was saying,” she continued. “With our arrival at Skyhold and increased recognition of the Inquisition, we find ourselves notably lacking one very important thing.”

“We need an Inquisitor,” Cassandra said bluntly, cutting through further preamble.

Josephine nodded to the woman at her side. “Just so. And, as such, we have gathered you all here in the hopes that you might help us make this momentous decision.”

If that was her hope, it seemed she might have to go unsatisfied as her revelation was met with universal silence. Lucien could think of a few likely candidates but had no desire to speak and draw attention to himself. As it was, he did his best to slowly melt behind Dorian’s chair in the hopes that his presence would be forgotten. Hawke took a more direct route.

The warrior strode forward, her heavily armored boots sounding out with a sharp clack against the stone. Startlingly blue eyes bore into all they fell upon. “If that’s what we’re here for, then count me out. I’m done cleaning up everyone else’s messes.”

Cassandra looked stricken. “But Champion,” she objected in a surprisingly breathy voice. “I was hoping you might consider-”

“Not a chance. Varric, just what have you been telling people I’ve been doing the last few years that the Seeker thinks I’d be even the slightest bit interested?”

Varric held up his hands. “You don’t really expect me to divulge everything you and Blondie have been up to, do you? I thought you’d want me to decrease the number of people who wanted to kill you.”

Hawke shook her head and marched out of the room. Varric shrugged at her sudden exit. Cassandra stared at the door with a crestfallen expression until Vivienne walked to cut off her line of sight. The Enchanter held her chin high and sniffed disdainfully.

“It’s for the best, Cassandra dear. As the ‘Champion’ said, her area of expertise is messes. Perhaps it would be wisest to look elsewhere.”

“Then we are back where we started,” Cassandra said.

“On the contrary, darling. We are left with the only logical choice.” When Cassandra merely blinked, Vivienne smiled indulgently. “You, darling.”

“Me?”

Cullen nodded. “I think you’d make a fine choice.”

“No,” Cassandra replied immediately.

A few other voices chimed in support of the Seeker when, to Lucien’s surprise, Dorian got to his feet. He glided up gracefully, offered Cassandra a toothy smile, and then placed something on the table with a deliberate flourish. Necks around the room craned to get a good look at what it was. Cullen promptly solved the mystery for them.

“A lyrium brand? But where-”

“I borrowed it from our mutual friend Hildred. Am I correct in assuming, Commander, that this is not a piece of standard equipment for Templars?”

“No. Although I confess the Inquisition does have one, should the need for it arise. She must have taken it.”

“‘Should the need arise.’ A rare need, one would hope. Only to be used on the most dire cases. Or, on the Herald.” Dorian turned to look not at Lucien but Cassandra. “Isn’t that right, Cassandra?”

Nearly every eye in the room turned in concert with Dorian’s. Cassandra didn’t so much as flinch under such attention. “There was a need. The world was in peril, the Divine had been murdered, and at the center of it all, a Tevinter spy. I needed to be certain he could be trusted.”

Varric sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maker’s balls. Good to see your interrogation techniques are as pleasant as ever, Seeker.”

Solas stood tall, face full of cutting disdain, and brought the base of his staff down with a crack. He proved in that instant that he was every bit as capable of commanding a crowd as he was disappearing in it. “Is this the sort of treatment we mages are to expect from the Inquisition?”

Vivienne brushed him off like a bit of inconsequential lint on her sleeve. “Now, now. Don’t lump us all in together. He is Tevinter. Cassandra dear had cause to be suspicious.”

“And I am an apostate. Would you not say the same of me?”

Vivienne smiled blandly. All around, people who had been vocal in their support of Cassandra a moment before were now expressing concern, just as Dorian had undoubtedly intended. There were, of course, exceptions. This news did not come as a revelation to Leliana. Rather than shock, she showed unnerving interest. Her attention never wavered from Lucien. He could barely breath without wondering how was interpreting it.

Cassandra, too, was entirely unflapped by the whole thing. She ignored it all in order to address Lucien. “I regret that I could not trust you then,” she said. “However, I trust you now.”

Dorian, it would seem, wasn’t the only one with a surprise planned for the meeting. Lucien flinched when Cassandra thrust out her fist but then he realized she meant to hand him something. Confused yet intrigued, he extended his own open hand and felt something smooth and warm drop into his palm.

Today was a day for returns, apparently. “My phylactery?”

“You have earned it. More than that, I think.” She paused for a moment while an unspoken argument waged in her head. “There was a time when I thought the worst of you. When this Elder One turned out to be a Magister, it seemed for a time to be a confirmation of all my worst thoughts of you. Yet, it was your decisions that let us heal the sky. Your determination that brought us out of Haven. I thought Corypheus was proof of everything you were but he instead showed everything you are not.”

Lucien worked his jaw. “You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.”

“I am. The Inquisition requires a leader- the one who has already been leading it. You.”

“But you do understand, I may not be like Corypheus in many ways but I am still a mage. From Tevinter. I will likely also be a Magister one day.”

“I will not pretend that has not given me pause but after all you have done, I must believe that this is what the Maker intended. There would be no Inquisition without you.”

Lucien opened his mouth but he found he was too shocked to reply. Judging by Dorian’s expression, he also hadn’t anticipated this particular reaction. The two Tevinters might have been speechless but this time they were the exceptions.

“Never thought I’d say this, but I agree with the Seeker,” Varric said. “I know better than to make bets against the Maker.”

“He did right by us all in Haven,” Blackwall agreed. “He has my vote.”

Sera also gave her ringing support. “Could do a lot worse. If anyone has to be Quizzie, why not?”

Dorian finally recovered himself. His eyebrows knit. He looked at Lucien and then to everyone else. “Not that I think he is a bad choice- quite the contrary- but he’s already been threatened by people _in this very room_. Especially given recent events, you can’t truly expect the rest of the Inquisition to welcome him as Inquisitor with open arms.”

Bull laughed. He leaned back against the wall and his chair creaked under his massive frame. “I’d be more worried about people outside the Inquisition. I won’t argue against the Vint, if he wants it, but I write back about a Vint mage becoming Inquisitor and there’s not going to be a happy response.”

Josephine bit her lip. “While the implications for our standing with Tevinter cannot to be ignored, I must concur. It has been difficult enough for me to smooth relations with allies because Lord Trevelyan is our Herald. Orlais especially would not be pleased by such an appointment.”

“And what does our Herald have to say for himself?” Leliana asked, her unnerving gaze never faltering.

Bad things. He had bad things to say about this decision.

Lucien swallowed hard and slowly let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Once he got past the initial spike of terror, he realized some part of him had been waiting for this moment. He’d been aware of taking the first steps toward it when he worked to unite everyone after Haven. It wasn’t an appointment he would cherish but it was a title he understood better than Herald. He didn’t know what it meant to be a divine symbol. What he did know, whether he liked it or not, was how to lead men. He was the first son of a Magister- he’d been groomed to lead since birth.

“Corypheus must be stopped and I will do everything in my power to make sure that he is. If,” he added with a wry smile, “I can do that without causing an international incident.”

“There is nothing Orlais appreciates more than a game well played. Show her that you can win and she will acknowledge you,” Leliana said firmly. “Isn’t that right Josie?”

Josephine spun her quill thoughtfully between her fingers. “If the Inquisition can make a suitably large display of power with the Herald in the lead, then yes, I believe it is possible we might yet secure an alliance. If Orlais supports us, other nations will follow.”

Cullen frowned. “I don’t like games. If we’re going to make Trevelyan Inquisitor, I say we just do it. There’s a would-be god out to destroy the world. If they want to argue about who stops it, they’re free to try.”

“I agree, Commander, but I trust Leliana’s judgment on these matters,” Cassandra said.

Leliana clapped her hands together. “Then it is decided.”

“Not that I’m not eager to do… whatever it is I have to do,” Lucien said, “but it seems to me that it might take some time to convince Orlais and there’s a fortress to run, prisoners to judge, and a world of eyes still on us."

“Then we had better act quickly on this business with the Wardens, hadn’t we?” Leliana responded sweetly.

“Right. We done then?” Sera asked. “Because I’m done.”

Just like that, the elf left. The others soon followed after, some of them pausing to congratulate Lucien on the upcoming appointment. Bull slapped him on the back and said that he’d, “Better make a good show,” which still somehow felt less ominous than Solas’ silently appraising glance or Vivienne’s icy smile.

By the time the last few people had filtered out, Lucien was more than ready for the nap he’d been contemplating earlier. He remembered the phylactery in his hand but he didn’t have the mental energy to deal with it at the moment. By his side, Dorian looked every bit as frazzled as he. It seemed rest would have to wait for the both of them, though.

When everyone else had left, Leliana approached them. “It appears you are not the only ones with tidings from Tevinter. My people intercepted this on its way to Mother Giselle. I thought it might be of greater interest to you, however.”

Leliana gave Lucien a letter and bowed out.

“Aren’t you popular today?” Dorian quipped while Lucien unfolded the parchment and read the contents.

Lucien’s stomach twisted. There was nothing explicitly ominous written in the missive but he couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety inspired by its contents. “Not me. You.”

“Me?”

“It was intended for Mother Giselle, though I can’t fathom why.” Lucien handed the letter to Dorian. “It’s from your father.”


	16. Beloved

“You sure you two will be alright alone, boss?” Bull asked. The Qunari scanned the horizon with his good eye. “Heard one of the scouts say a high dragon has been spotted in the area.”

Lucien wasn’t sure he liked just how excited Bull looked to deliver what should have been alarming news. That would mark trouble in the future, he was sure. For now, though, he had bigger things to worry about than Bull’s affinity for giant, winged monsters. Things he couldn’t focus on with so many other people loitering about.

“We’re only stopping by Redcliffe. We’re not going anywhere near dragons,” Lucien assured. “At most we’ll be a day behind you getting to Crestwood.”

“Alright, but if that dragon has decided to relocate and make her nest in the Chantry or something, you send one of the ravens ahead. I’ll be there to back you up before you know it.”

“Sure.”

“And don’t worry, I’ll do the same for you. Wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

“Or you could avoid the dragon maybe? Just a thought.”

“You’re supposed to be making a name for yourself, right? Plus, dragons, boss. Dragons.”

Lucien sighed. “Fine. I’m open to the idea. _If_ we run into any dragons.”

Bull put a hand on each of Lucien’s shoulders. “Not if. _When_.”

“When. Until then Crestwood, Hawke, Wardens. Got it?”

“Got it, boss.”

With that, Bull and the rest of the Inquisition’s forces continued their march west, leaving Dorian and Lucien alone at last. Not that the other Altus noticed. He was far too busy staring pensively off toward Redcliffe.

“Ready to go?” Lucien asked.

“On your command, oh lord Inquisitor,” Dorian replied.

“You’re not going to let that drop, are you?”

“Never.”

“I’m not even Inquisitor yet.”

“Yes, but we’ve begun that inexorable march, now haven’t we?”

Dorian pulled himself onto his horse and started off. Lucien followed suit and soon the hills of the Hinterlands were rolling by at a comfortable pace.

The evening sun bathed the lands in gold and made for a remarkably idyllic picture. Fennec scampered in the fields and birds flitted to and fro amongst the billowing clouds. It was hard to imagine that, not long ago, a fierce war had raged across the countryside. There were still marks of it everywhere- abandoned homesteads, scorched trees, and pocked earth- but compared to the former state of things, it was positively peaceful.

He’d done that. The Inquisition had helped bring the worst of the war between the mages and Templars to a close. Now the mages were working diligently toward saving the world and Ferelden was left to recover. It was a reassuring sight. If Lucien was going to head the Inquisition, he needed to know they’d be a force for good.

After all the grief Dorian had gone through over Lucien being Herald, Lucien had expected more of a reaction to being granted his new title. Instead Dorian had taken it all in stride, making a joke of it more than anything. Perhaps it had come as a welcome distraction from the other road they’d been put on that day.

Lucien frowned. In all the decades he had known Dorian, this had to have been the longest the other man had gone without speaking. Dorian had barely said a word since they’d left Skyhold. Although he would speak when spoken to, he’d for the most part avoided even that by hanging toward the back of the group at all times or- as now- riding far ahead. Usually when Dorian was worried about something, he became more verbose to cover it, not less. His prolonged silence worried Lucien.

He’d heard all the rumors. Every vicious little thing, whispered in voices just loud enough to carry to the intended ears and stick like barbs. Dorian had joked and played it off but Lucien knew that it was entirely possible that Halward would send someone to forcibly drag his son back to Tevinter. Even that, as terrible as it was, didn’t explain Dorian’s current mood.

“Should we stop to find a place to settle down?” Lucien called. “We’re making good time but we’ll never make it to Redcliffe by nightfall.”

Dorian slowed to a stop. When Lucien approached him, he said, “You couldn’t have ordered someone to ride with us for a time to set up camp before they left? If you’re going to be Inquisitor, you might as well enjoy some of the perks. I’ve absolutely no interest in trying to pitch a tent.”

Lucien hopped off his horse and surveyed the area around them. The first stars of the night had broken through the dying day to add their light to the sky. While there were clouds, none of them looked to threaten rain. It would likely be a cold night, but that was every night in the south, as far as Lucien was concerned.

“We could sleep under the stars,” he offered.

“Not nearly as romantic as you’d think, trust me.”

Dorian dismounted as well and his steed was tied with Lucien’s to a tree on the banks of a nearby stream. Not far away, frogs started up their nightly chorus while a gentle breeze rustled through the tall grass. It would be easy to fall into a meditative mood in such a setting, and though there was still much to do before they could settle in for the night, Lucien knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t at least try to talk to Dorian first. Hopefully here, so far from prying eyes and ears, Dorian would be willing to open up.

Lucien threaded his fingers through Dorian’s and squeezed lightly. “What’s really been bothering you?” he asked.

“Said as though the prospect of camping was not cause enough for despair.” Dorian leaned in so that his mouth was to Lucien’s ear. “Besides, we’re all alone. Plenty of time to ourselves, for once, without the slightest fear of interruption. Are you sure there isn’t something else you’d like to talk about?”

His hot breath contrasted sharply with the cool air and sent a pleasant shiver down Lucien’s spine. There was time enough, alright. Enough to take the edge off the sharp longing that had built in the months between them. But it was more than months. It was all the years that Lucien had hoped for such a moment and it was Dorian. _Dorian_. Lucien still couldn’t believe it at times. It couldn’t just be some quick thing knocked out as a passing amusement. He needed time to savor, to worship. More importantly, he wouldn’t let it be a distraction when Dorian was in pain.

Lucien grit his teeth and took a step back so that he could look Dorian in the eyes. “I know there’s something more.”

“Aren’t you clever.”

“Dorian, what happened between you and your father?”

Anguish flashed across Dorian’s face. He tried to resettle his features into a more neutral expression but the tension around his eyes remained. “Oh, you know how it is with father. I’m a black mark on the family’s good name, he does what he can to make it all go away, and on it goes. I suppose he got tired of it all and decided something had to change. Namely, me.”

Lucien’s heart tightened painfully. “What did he do?”

A subtle tremor ran through Dorian’s hands, prompting Lucien to increase the pressure of his grip. It was enough to still the movement in Dorian’s limbs but not the quiver in his voice.

“I overheard him making arrangements. I can’t imagine why he did it at the estate when he knew I was there. Perhaps he didn’t care. Or perhaps he thought it was better to risk me overhearing than to chance anyone else discovering what a fucking hypocrite he is.” Dorian attempted a few calming breaths, but every intake of air only became more jagged than the last. When he continued speaking, his voice was so thin as to almost be unrecognizable. “He was going to perform a blood ritual to alter my mind. Blood magic! After all the times I heard him decry it as a loathsome evil, I find out that he thinks his son is worse still. If I hadn’t left, who’s to say what might have become of me? If I’d even survived. It still crushes me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal.”

Lucien felt as though he might be ill. Each new revelation made his heart constrict until he could hardly believe it hadn’t shattered under the pressure. And that was just hearing about it. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it had been like for Dorian to live through and all alone, at that.

“Is that why you disappeared before?” he asked.

“I couldn’t reach out to you. To anyone,” Dorian replied. “I was sure he would find me again if I did.”

“Maker, Dorian, I had no idea. I-” Everything Lucien could think to say felt hollow. There probably wasn’t a thing to be said. Nothing could right that sort of wrong. “Are you alright?”

“Not really. No.”

Lucien folded Dorian into his arms and held him tight. Every beat of Dorian’s heart, every expansion of his lungs, felt to Lucien like an inconceivable blessing. He nuzzled the crook of Dorian’s neck to be closer to that precious pulse. How close he had come to losing this.

“I’m so sorry, _amatus_ ,” he said. Dorian’s posture grew immediately stiff and still. He pushed back to make space between them. Grey eyes danced, looking for the lie in Lucien’s face. Lucien smiled softly. “Do I need to say it again for you to believe me?”

Dorian gave a hollow laugh. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“As you wish, amatus.”

That a relationship and years of friendship besides weren’t enough to convince Dorian of Lucien’s earnest affection pained Lucien on his beloved’s behalf. He pressed his mouth to warm and willing flesh where he shaped the word like a tattoo. _Amatus_. He repeated it like a prayer until it lost all meaning and became simply the sound that sang of Dorian. He would keep on saying the word as often as he needed to make doubt crumble away so that only truth could remain.

Dorian’s eyes shone in the dying light. “You know that I’ve no idea what I’m doing. I have no examples with which to compare. I don’t know what you want me to be.”

“I don’t want you to be anything,” Lucien said. “Just you, with me. We’ll figure everything else out from there.”

Dorian grabbed the sides of Lucien’s face and as their mouths met under stars not their own, he finally believed. He broke away with a crooked grin on his face. “You know, tomorrow we’ll be in a tavern with proper rooms and beds. You couldn’t have waited until then for all of this? Or at least until we’d set up camp?”

Lucien’s mustache quirked up on one side. “Is that a hint?”

“Am I being too subtle for you?”

Dorian pulled Lucien in for another kiss. The rough movement of his lips was matched only by his eager hands. Blunt nails raked through the close shorn hair at the back of Lucien’s head sending teeth clashing. Dorian nipped at Lucien’s lower lip and his tongue was promptly granted entrance to the other man’s mouth. Nimble fingers found their way past cloak, coat, and shirt.

Lucien gasped as his chest was exposed to the brisk night. Heat pooled deep in his gut. He pushed through the growing fog around his mind to grab Dorian’s wrists.

“Wait,” he said, voice husky.

Dorian froze and doubt flickered across his face. “Second thoughts?”

“Heh. With the number of times I’ve thought about this, I don’t think second thoughts would quite cover it. But, no. It just occurs to me that perhaps we ought to set up camp first.”

Dorian looked around and with a flick of his wrist, set a nearby pile of driftwood aflame. The horses startled and backed further away. Under other circumstances, Lucien might have been concerned about the fire catching and growing out of control. However, he trusted Dorian’s mastery of flames. He also found he didn’t much feel like taking the time at the moment to make proper preparations. He shrugged off his heavy, fur lined traveling cloak and spread it over the grassy bank not far from the makeshift campfire. It would do.

Lucien might not have had patience for setting camp but he fully intended to savor every moment with Dorian. He pulled Dorian close and delighted in the way the other man quivered under the rough scrape of his unshaven chin. He moved his mouth slowly along the strong line of Dorian’s jaw and up to his ear. Lucien’s nostrils flared at the musky scent cultivated by a long day of riding. Metal clasps clinked and leather creaked as their bodies pushed flush together.

Dorian continued his earlier endeavor. With one smooth motion, he did away with the sash around Lucien’s waist. Thanks to Dorian’s prior ministrations, once that was gone, the coat and shirt underneath could be discarded with little more than a gesture.

Bronze flesh prickled at the exposure. Now that he was naked from the waist up, Dorian’s billowing cloak was Lucien’s only refuge from the elements. Rather than let that stall him, Lucien was all the more determined to even the score. Not that Dorian made it easy. While Lucien had been forced into simple Marcher gear back when he had an identity to hide, Dorian still wore the ornate, sophisticated armor of their homeland. Add to that Dorian’s penchant for artful layering and disrobing proved a more difficult task than Lucien had anticipated. It was well worth the effort.

Every stitch of fabric removed meant another expanse of taut flesh revealed. Dorian’s skin was painted a deep, alluring gold by the nearby fire. Robbed of protection as it was, Lucien didn’t give the skin time to cool. Anywhere his hands went, his mouth followed after. Dorian hissed in pleasure and dug his fingers into Lucien’s shoulders when Lucien sank down to his knees.

Rather than continue to divest Dorian of clothes, Lucien decided to relish the moment. His mouth glided over the front of Dorian’s pants. It was the barest ghost of contact, more breath than touch. He glanced up when he reached around to grasp Dorian’s ass. He was rewarded with the sight of Dorian throwing back his head. Lucien kneaded the swell of firm muscles under his hands.

Dorian bit his lip but it wasn’t enough to stop a keening moan from escaping. He buried his fingers in Lucien’s scalp. He looked down at Lucien with lust darkened eyes. Some internal conflict brought down his brow. Lucien waited to see where it would lead. In the end, Dorian used his grip to pull Lucien’s head back.

“As much as I’m enjoying where this is going,” he panted, “it is quite cold. Before we get to the really fun bits, my really fun bits might just freeze off.”

“Well, we certainly can’t have that,” Lucien responded.

He hooked one arm around Dorian’s knees and pulled the other man down into his lap. With his other arm, Lucien grabbed the hem of his cloak and pulled it up around them. The weight of Dorian on top of him made Lucien’s need burn brighter but now that he was once more eye to eye with his fellow Tevinter, he found it difficult to do anything more than stare.

Dilated pupils had nearly swallowed Dorian’s irises, creating endless depths for Lucien to get lost in. A gentle flush brought extra color to his cheeks and, despite the temperature, a thin sheen of sweat made his body glisten. Lucien ran a thumb over the dusky mole on Dorian’s cheekbone. He could have sung Dorian’s praises until the sun crested in the east. He could have told Dorian he was beautiful and declared his love until his throat was hoarse and still it wouldn’t have felt like enough. And so Lucien kissed Dorian and hoped that their bodies would find a language to express what words never could.

The last vestiges of clothing were happily discarded. Under the cover of heavy cloaks, Lucien reverently explored every glorious inch of Dorian’s body with lips and teeth and tongue. Dorian traded touch for touch and kiss for kiss. Passion built blinding bright until in the roll of hips and tangled limbs, they found their rhythm. The final boundaries between bodies fell away.

Years of much needed discretion reflexively kept the two men’s voices in check, but only just. Increasingly ragged breaths barely covered chanted names and pleasured moans. Lucien was surprised to hear anything intelligible pass his lips when he could hardly think.The only clarity he could find in the murky, muddled mind was Dorian. Dorian with his lightly staff calloused and exquisitely clever fingers. Dorian, whose lithe muscular frame was such an impossibly perfect fit against and inside Lucien’s own.

Soon even that much thought became impossible and Lucien’s hips bucked out to chase that final need. Dorian buried his face in Lucien’s shoulder to smother a cry he could no longer contain. Back arched and toes curled, Lucien didn’t take long to follow suit. Finally, one not long after the other, they were both utterly spent.

Lucien wanted nothing more than to melt back into Dorian’s arms. However, the fire couldn’t go the night and a couple of cloaks wouldn’t do to keep them warm. He no longer had the energy to try to wrestle a tent in place but he could do something to make the sleeping situation more tolerable.

He rolled wearily up onto legs that felt like mush beneath him. The temperature seemed all the more frigid for leaving the pleasant humidity of sex behind. He summoned the mana to refresh the nearly extinguished fire a bit longer.

“Leaving already?” Dorian asked with a hint of humor in his voice afforded by the fact that he was still safely ensconced in Lucien’s cloak. “Well, I do love watching you go.”

Lucien smiled as he suddenly remembered that he was quite naked. Though he hardly had the energy for it, he put an extra swagger into his step as he made his way toward their supplies. He stopped first to dip his hands into the stream. The water was intolerably cold but a few splashes would suffice to clean up a bit. Once that was taken care of, he gathered up his and Dorian’s bedding, as well as some extra kindling to bolster the fire.

Dorian took the opportunity to wash himself up as well while Lucien set to preparing a partial camp. It took much longer than it ought for Lucien to arrange the bedding. He couldn’t help but keep his eyes plastered on Dorian. Every plane and contour of Dorian’s body was brought into sublime contrast by the dance of shadow and flickering light. Lucien didn’t bother with any pretense of disinterest when Dorian turned to come back to camp. Dorian’s teeth shone bright and white as he slid down to rejoin Lucien under the covers.

Lucien wound his arms around Dorian and held him tight. “I suddenly feel like I wasted too many years worrying. I suppose I should have come south sooner.”

“Preposterous. The south is still miserable,” Dorian scoffed. “But this, we certainly should have done sooner.”

Lucien hummed his contented agreement. As exhausted as he was, he felt strangely awake. Rather than get back up, he lay in blissful, satisfied silence until Dorian’s breathing slowed to an even tempo. Lucien pressed a light kiss to the back of Dorian’s neck.

“Sleep well, amatus,” he said quietly.

It turned out Dorian wasn’t quite so asleep as Lucien had thought because he replied in a voice barely a whisper, “And you… amatus.”

Lucien’s breath hitched. It was one thing to say it himself. How many times had he said it in his head? He’d long since accepted that for him, it would always come back to Dorian. There was no getting back up when he’d fallen so hard. But it was another matter altogether to hear the same from Dorian.

Lucien shifted so that he could see Dorian’s face. For the first time in a long time, Dorian looked at peace. The worry lines that had grown almost ever present between his eyebrows had eased away. Even in sleep, the edges of his mouth still curled softly into a smile.

Lucien was glad to have helped relieve Dorian of some of his burdens, but left alone with his own thoughts, he could feel anger creep in. When Dorian had opened up earlier, Lucien had only felt grief. All of his attention had been on the man he loved and the heinous crime that was nearly committed against him. With Dorian cared for and comforted, Lucien was free to focus on the one who had caused all pain.

He wasn’t sure what sort of message Magister Halward had thought to send along to his son, but Lucien certainly had a few choice words and more that he would like to send along to the elder Pavus. He supposed he should be relieved that they would be faced with a retainer in Redcliff and that Halward himself would be safely home in Qarinus. Lucien wasn’t sure he could trust himself to face the man any time soon.

He awoke the following day in a far better mood. He certainly didn’t feel any more favorably about Halward but it was hard to cling to anger with the world painted in rosy hues by the morning sun. More importantly, Dorian was still sleeping snugly in his arms. That alone was enough to qualify this as the best morning ever, despite a crick in his neck from sleeping on the ground and frozen toes that had poked out from under the covers some time in the night.

Dorian stirred and his lashes fluttered irritably against the light. He squeezed his eyes shut again but it was clear he was fully awake. Lucien leaned forward and rested his mouth by Dorian’s ear.

“Good morning,” he said.

Dorian scowled and mumbled, “Two words that should never go together.”

“Not that I’m eager myself, but we really should get up if we’re going to make it to the tavern at a decent hour. Plus, we’re not far from the main road. I don’t think it’s likely that someone will stumble upon us, but there’s a chance.”

Dorian threw an arm over his eyes and rolled over, defiant. Lucien chuckled. He fished around until he found his clothing. He was glad he’d had the forethought to keep their clothes with them under the blankets. They’d be a bit rumpled for it, but they were warm. Lucien would take a wrinkled shirt and pants if it meant they were warm.

He restarted the fire, which had sputtered out during the night, and set about getting them ready to depart. The horses were cared for, bags repacked, and a simple breakfast made. The smell of hot food was enough to coax Dorian out at last. His hair was charmingly disheveled, not that he would appreciate the observation. So Lucien kept the thought to himself and allowed Dorian some privacy to prepare for what was sure to be a difficult day ahead.

There was still almost half a day of travel ahead of them but at least this time it wasn’t passed in silence. Once he’d had time to wake up more, Dorian was in a considerably better mood than he’d been before. Which wasn’t to say his foul mood had disappeared entirely.

“I can’t believe my father’s gall,” he fumed as the walls of Redcliffe appeared through the hills. “Of course he couldn’t come to Skyhold! No, that would be too much. But contacting some southern cleric on the sly? Much wiser. If this is some sort of Venatori connivance, I will be utterly disappointed.”

Lucien had to admit he couldn’t understand Halward’s logic in this case. Which, of course, should have been expected given that he didn’t much understand- nor want to- anything he’d heard of Halward’s recent activity. Still, Mother Gisele seemed an odd choice in correspondence partners. It was almost unfathomable to think she might have been able to do what the letter asked and escort Dorian to Redcliffe.

Lucien wondered if perhaps she’d reached out first. She couldn’t very well get rid of the Herald of Andraste, at least, not through anything so mundane as a few letters. Dorian, though, might have seemed a manageable target if she was looking to thin the number of evil Tevinters from the ranks of the Inquisition. Better yet, since no one else knew the specifics for Dorian’s rift with his family, she could pretend she was doing a kindness in sending him home.

Lucien didn’t want to make any accusations without proof, so instead he said, “I’m sure if Leliana suspected the letter was anything other than genuine she wouldn’t have passed it on.”

“True. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. We’re here.”

The ride into Redcliffe was awkward. Lucien hadn’t stopped to consider how the people there might view two armed and armored Tevinters riding into the village. They were geared for their trip to Crestwood but it probably would have been a good idea to pack something less likely to invoke suspicion of another invasion. Not that Dorian owned anything that was inconspicuous but they might have done something to look a bit less… magey, given all the people here had been through. Lucien could only hope that none of them knew they’d be meeting yet another of their countrymen in the tavern.

Amongst the crowds of suspicious faces, he spotted a familiar one- an elf in Inquisition gear. Lucien dismounted and approached her. “Ritts, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, your Worship. Nightingale thought that, given recent events, it might be best if there was someone around to watch after your horses and gear. Make sure they’re not tampered with.”

The scout took hold of the reins of both horses. Dorian raised an eyebrow but dismounted without protest. Lucien noted that some of the muttering from the crowds lessened once he and Dorian were on their own two feet but there were still too many furtive glances to make him comfortable.

“Good idea,” he agreed. He’d have to remember to thank Leliana for her forethought later. “Any other word?”

“None sir,” Ritts replied. “I’ll send news along to those in Crestwood as soon as you’re done here.”

“We shouldn’t be long.”

“Right. You, er, might want to keep your staff handy, your Worship. Got orders not to look into the tavern myself- private business and all- but people haven’t been acting right about it all day. Avoiding it.”

Dorian frowned. “That can’t be good. Just what sort of instructions was this retainer given, I wonder.”

“Nothing to do but go and see,” Lucien said.

Sure enough, there wasn’t anyone so much as loitering near the Gull and Lantern. Even when Alexius had been around, music and lively chatter had drifted from the tavern. Now, nothing. Dorian took the lead and poked his head inside warily. When nothing immediately removed it from his shoulders, he continued inside with Lucien at his heels.

“Looks like that scout of your was right- nobody’s here. This certainly doesn’t bode well.”

Lucien prowled the dark room, certain they must have missed something- a note on one of the tables, some sign of what they’d just walked into. The stairs at the other side of the tavern creaked. In the midst of such silence, it was enough to put Lucien’s nerves on end but not as much as when he heard the voice that followed.

“Dorian.”

Halward Pavus climbed down the stairs toward Dorian, who had frozen near the entrance. Dorian’s lip pulled up into a snarl and his expression darkened.  “Father. So the whole story about the ‘family retainer’ was just... what? A smokescreen?”

“Then you were told.”

“What is this exactly, father?” Dorian demanded. “Ambush? Kidnapping? A warm family reunion?”

“This is how it has always been,” Halward sighed.

Lucien’s presence hadn’t yet been noted as he stood in the shadows of the emptied building. He barely heard a word as he watched the confrontation unfold between father and son. Not that he had expected to be pleased the next time he saw Halward but Lucien was surprised just how furious he felt. Halward acting as though his son was being unreasonable left Lucien’s ears ringing with rage.

Ritts had cautioned him to keep his staff close. The air crackled with residual magical energies but, at the moment, Lucien was focused on far more mundane means of retribution. His fists balled so tightly that his nails dug into his palms and his arms shook. He marched swiftly across the room and would have punched Halward square in the jaw had Dorian not caught his arm at the last moment.

“Don’t,” Dorian said. “He’s not worth dirtying your hands.”

At the moment Lucien didn’t much care. The only man whose worth concerned him was Dorian- Dorian who was worth so very much more than that sack of shit in front of him could ever be. So it was for Dorian’s sake that Lucien relented.

That moment of hesitation was long enough for realization to finally hit Halward. He gasped and his eyes widened in surprised recognition. “ _You_. As soon as I heard who this so-called Herald of Andraste was, I should have known that’s what this was about.”

Dorian released Lucien’s arm and for a moment looked like he might take the opportunity to punch his father instead but he left it at a gesture. He sliced the air between them with an angry hand and stepped forward to block Lucien from view. He faced down his father with squared shoulders.

“No,” he growled. “You don’t get to speak like that. Not to him. You know even less about him than you do about me.”

Bluster gone, Halward deflated. He shook his head. “This is not what I wanted.”

“I’m never what you wanted, father. Or had you forgotten?”

Lucien took a step forward so that he was at Dorian’s side. “Let’s go,” he said. “You were right. He’s not worth it.”

“I agree,” Dorian said and moved to leave.

“Dorian, please,” Halward pleaded. “If you’ll only listen to me.”

In a final act of desperation, he reached out and caught Dorian by the hem of his cloak. Lucien turned abruptly to grab the older man’s wrist and wrench it away. He didn’t let go until Halward winced.

“Don’t,” Lucien hissed. “Don’t act like he owes you a single thing. Not after what you tried to do to him.”

Halward looked at Dorian. “You told him?”

“Oh, don’t look so horrified, father. He’s not about to run off and tell the Magisterium. Though I imagine most of your fellows would give you a pat on the back for the effort.”

“I only wanted what was best for you,” the elder Pavus insisted.

“You wanted the best for you. For your fucking legacy. Anything for that.”

Frustrated feet carried Dorian away from his father. He slumped against a table for support with an exhausted exhalation. To his credit, Halward didn’t attempt to deny the accusation but it was too little, too late. Lucien had heard more than enough. However, it wasn’t his place to decide what happened here. If it was, Halward would have been laid out on the floor long ago. He let his fingers bump against Dorian’s. Nothing for Halward to gawk at- a small token of contact, just for Dorian.

“I’m with you,” Lucien said quietly. “Whatever you want to do.”

Dorian offered a small smile before turning suspicious, angry eyes on his father. “Tell me why you came.”

Halward Pavus, Magister of the Imperium, looked small under that gaze. “If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition-”

“You didn’t. I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do.” Dorian threw up his hands and turned to leave. “Once, I had a father who would have known that.”

That might have been it had Halward not reached out one last time. “Once, I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me.”

Dorian stopped in his tracks. “One chance. I’ll let you say your piece, father, but I make no further promises. For forgiveness least of all.” He nodded to Lucien. “I’ll only be a moment.”

“Alright. I’ll be right outside,” Lucien agreed. He glared at Halward. “Try anything and I think I should remind you I have a rather overzealous organization at my beck and call. And, frankly, you’ll be lucky if you’re still around to deal with them by the time I’m done with you.”

Lucien allowed the two men their privacy and exited, still unsure if it was the right thing to do. When the door was shut behind him, he collapsed against it. It had been a very long couple of days. He was starting to look forward to the prospect of returning to the relative simplicity of disappearing Wardens, darkspawn Magisters, and apocalyptic tears in the Veil.


	17. A Turn in the Weather

Lucien shivered and pulled his cloak closer. He would have to find something spectacular to gift the Inquisition’s brilliant new arcanist, Dagna. The young dwarf had placed an enchantment on his cloaks so that they would keep him warm in even the most inclement of weather. It was the sort of thing he might not have thought twice about at home, where magical modes of comfort were more common than not. However, he’d never so much needed such comforts as he did since journeying south.

The comparatively fair weather of the Hinterlands had turned foul the closer they came to Crestwood, until it got to the point where Lucien had to marvel that they were riding rather than swimming. He would have said the sky was emptying itself but that would imply there might be some sort of end to it all. As far as he could tell, there was not. Each moment seemed rainier than the last.

“The Fallow Mire and now this,” Dorian said. “Is everywhere in Ferelden so… moist?”

“Just be glad you weren’t around yet when we went to the Storm Coast,” Lucien replied.

“What cheery names these southerners think of for these places. Is it any wonder the weather is so abysmal?”

Abysmal hardly covered it. Aside from what felt like more rain than Lucien had experienced in a lifetime in Tevinter, there was the persistent cold, mud, snow, and ice. When there was a pleasant night in Ferelden, it had far less to do with a turn in the weather than the sort of company that made it easy to forget the chill.

“The Hinterlands weren’t so bad,” he said.

Dorian hummed appreciatively, no doubt thinking of the same thing Lucien was.  “I do recall a few pleasant high points in our travels, yes.”

That was a part of their journey that Lucien would happily remember in order to ward off the worst moments. The absolute worst of which, unfortunately, he couldn’t stop thinking about no matter how he tried to focus on the good. Bad weather and the occasional bear were one thing- easily forgotten in favor of more pleasurable memories or, better yet, by creating new memories in inns along the road. The meeting with Halward Pavus was another matter altogether. It was an uncomfortable topic which Dorian had roundly avoided, as he so often did with such matters.

Soon they would rejoin the others, so if they were going to discuss it, this was the time. Lucien fiddled with the reins, stalling in hopes of finding the right way to broach the subject. He decided it was best to jump right in.

“You haven’t mentioned, how did the conversation with your father go? I didn’t have to kill him, so... not too bad?”

“Not as bad as it could have been, no. Still, it wasn’t what I’d expected. I had hoped-” Dorian sighed. “I don’t know what I’d hoped. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“I can’t tell you what to do but I can say I don’t think he deserves your forgiveness, let alone another wasted thought.”

“You’re right, of course. Some of the things he said to me, I’d have done anything to hear years ago. Hearing it now and feeling nothing, I suppose I finally realized words will never be enough.” Dorian’s shoulders slumped and his expression turned wistful. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Really after everything you went through, it was the least I could do. Although you might have been better off without me. I’m sorry I tried to punch your father.”

Dorian laughed. “I’m not. I was terribly tempted to let you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time we see him.”

“I’d rather hope we don’t see him again. Not any time soon, anyway. Do you think he’s on his way back, yet?”

“Oh, I’m sure. I can’t imagine him staying a moment longer in Redcliffe than he had to,” Lucien said. Mixed thoughts of home brought his gaze north. That was when he spotted strange movement up the road. He squinted his eyes but couldn’t quite see beyond the dripping, water logged brim of his hood. “What’s that up there?”

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, undead. I’d recognize the gate anywhere. You had to mention the Fallow Mire, didn’t you?”

“You were the one who brought it up, not me.”

“Now, now. This is hardly the time to play who brought up the topic of the corpse infested bog. There are shrieking villagers to rescue.”

Lucien dismounted and then, staff in hand, he rushed to the rescue. The Inquisition had been provided with hardy steeds but he had no desire to test the horses’ mettle against magic and the undead. With luck, the villagers also wouldn’t spook when they saw two charging Tevinters.

As it turned out, they were expected. The others from the Inquisition had arrived not long before. They’d stopped to find out what the situation was in Crestwood when the undead had attacked. The situation, as it turned out, went far beyond just the undead. There was a Rift in the lake, bandits everywhere, wyvern infested caves, and Wardens on the lookout for Hawke’s friend, Stroud.

If Lucien was going to make a name for himself, this was certainly the place to start. It seemed like every problem led directly to another. Closing the Rift meant he had to deal with the bandits and drain the lake. Draining the lake uncovered demons and more Rifts. Most surprising of all, the submerged town held evidence of a crime that caused the town’s mayor to suffer a crisis of conscience and run for the hills. The Inquisition would have to see that he was punished but first the biggest problem of all needed to be dealt with because in the process of trying to make things easier for the people of Crestwood, they’d managed to stir up a high dragon.

The dragon’s massive bulk blotted out the sun as she swooped overhead. Lucien rolled behind the crumbled ruins of an ancient wall. It felt like feeble protection against a creature that could spew lightning and that had a hide more than capable of withstanding any of their weapons. Every flap of its enormous wings was enough to knock Lucien off his feet. He was quite relieved he’d brought more than the usual number of companions for the trip to Crestwood.

Dorian was with him, of course. Bull he’d invited in the hopes that the Qunari could use his experience with the Ben-Hassrath to get a read on what was happening with the Wardens. Blackwall, also, had seemed an obvious choice given the situation. Since Hawke was involved, both Varric and Cassandra had insisted on coming as well. Finally, with so many of the inner circle going, Sera apparently felt like she’d miss out on all the fun if she didn’t tag along.

Fun wasn’t the word Lucien would have chosen to describe anything they’d done out in the rain soaked Ferelden countryside, least of all fighting a dragon. It seemed he might have been in the minority. Blackwall was far happier to face such a foe than to deal with the prospect that most of his fellows had joined ranks with Corypheus. And, enjoying herself of not, Cassandra was clearly in her element fighting dragons. It was in her blood. Moreover, it gave her a chance to fight shoulder to shoulder alongside her idol.

“Remind you of anything, Hawke?” Varric called as he dodged a swiping claw and left a slew of traps behind him.

“Maker,” Hawke sighed. “Don’t remind me of the Bone Pit.”

“Why not? We both know you fight best when you’re angry.”

Lucien was fairly certain the Champion didn’t need any help in that regard. He could see now how she had fought off a minor invasion almost single-handedly. In Tevinter people had scoffed at the idea that a mere warrior could really do such a thing. It was clear that his countrymen were wrong on that count, as they so often were. Hawke moved with a single-minded ferocity. She leapt in with her greatsword where even the Iron Bull hesitated to go. Although, that might have been less a matter of care and more because Bull was thoroughly distracted.

“Now this is what I’m talking about!” he bellowed. He gaped in unadulterated awe when he caught the dragon’s gnashing jaws with the haft of his hammer. He looked like he couldn’t have been happier to have those teeth mere inches from his face. “Why’d we waste so much time with fucking demons and fade rifts when we could have been fighting dragons?”

Sera bounded by, bow in hand. “She’s beautiful, right?”

Bull grunted and grinned as he threw the beast back a pace. “ _Taarsidath-an halsaam_!”

Being from Tevinter, Lucien knew little Qunlat as a rule. That was something he found himself quite grateful for, given Bull’s expression as he shouted. Dorian, at least, Lucien could count on to be sensible.

“Remind me again why we couldn’t be satisfied by the fact that the wretched weather had started to clear and instead had to pick a fight with the living, breathing storm cloud?” Dorian asked with a grimace from his own rubble strewn refuge.

As if to emphasize the mage’s point, the dragon chose that moment to unleash another spray of electricity upon the field. Not to be outdone by a beast, Dorian threw back a chain of lightning that arced elegantly from staff to snout to beating wings. The dragon couldn’t be seriously wounded by an attack from its own favored element but it could apparently be offended by the attempt. Her  full attention turned onto Dorian, she charged straight over Hawke and Bull.

No matter what the others did, the dragon could not be swayed from her course. Dorian scrambled to find a safer vantage point from which to fight but there wasn’t a chance he was going to be able to outrun a charging high dragon. Lucien put all his remaining energy into bolstering Dorian’s barriers and started to sprint, even though he didn’t have a clue what he was going to do when he got there.

The dragon crashed into Dorian at full speed. He was launched into the air and landed in a crumpled heap some distance away. Lucien didn’t have time to make sure that the barriers had held. If he didn’t do something fast, the dragon would be on Dorian again.

Memories half forgotten from the nightmarish journey from snowbound Haven came rushing back to Lucien. He concentrated on the Anchor and drew from the power there to temporarily sunder the Veil above the dragon. The creature roared in pain as the forces of the Fade threatened to pull it apart. Slowed as she was, the fighters were able to descend upon the dragon.

Lucien took up the lead. Without thinking, he took ahold of one of the dragon’s horns and used it to propel himself onto her head. He didn’t have enough mana after the long fight to finish her off with a spell but that didn’t mean he was unarmed. He drove the blade end of his staff into the base of the dragon’s skull. He tried to hold onto the weapon for stability when the dragon collapsed but it was dug in well and snapped under the strain.

Lucien ignored the way his ankle rolled under him. He hobbled as quickly as he could over to Dorian’s prone form. His heart was able to beat again when he saw the other man was conscious and looked relatively unharmed.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh yes. Lovely. Had the wind knocked out of me, is all,” Dorian replied. He drew in a sharp breath when he tried to sit up. “And perhaps a cracked rib or two. But it could be far worse. I could have had to talk to my father again.”

Lucien laughed in relief. He could have kissed Dorian if he wasn’t so terribly aware of all the eyes on the two of them at the moment. They might have been something of an open secret but old habits died hard. So instead he knelt down and offered Dorian a much needed potion.

Back at the carcass, Bull retrieved the broken end of Lucien’s staff. “Nice one, boss. That was badass.”

Lucien winced when he stood back up on his increasingly tender ankle. He noticed that Bull had dropped calling him ‘Vint’ since it had been decided that he would be Inquisitor. He wasn’t sure he trusted the sudden deference but he wasn’t about to complain.

“I’m glad you approve. I’m just happy it worked, seeing as I’m now without a staff.”

Cassandra looked less thrilled about the turn the battle had taken. She looked suspicious, a look that made her far more fond of her sword. Her hand lingered unconsciously at her hilt. “What was that you did with the Anchor?” she asked.

“Did I not mention? It’s something I figured out after my run in with Corypheus. I wasn’t sure I could still manage now that the Anchor has been stabilized.” Lucien shook his marked hand uncomfortably. Using it always left a tingling sensation but he’d taxed it more than usual and the nerves were still burning as a result. “Probably not something I should do all that often but it’s good to know it works in a pinch.”

Cassandra nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation. She wasn’t the only one whose curiosity had been piqued, however. Once word had gotten out that the Inquisition was taking care of their dragon problem, a few bold locals had gathered to see the fight for themselves. With the dragon slain, these onlookers poked out from various hiding places and came for a closer look.

Lucien ignored it all and sent Blackwall to retrieve Harding and her attachment of scouts and soldiers. It wouldn’t be a pleasant task, but the dragon would need to be butchered and broken into it’s various priceless components.

While he awaited their arrival, more villagers started to pour in. Word spread quickly and soon seemingly all of Crestwood was there. After everything they’d been through recently, Lucien would guess they were looking for any reason to celebrate. Their undead problem was gone but so was their mayor and he’d left behind the truth of his cruel betrayal of their trust. Even deceased, the dragon was a terrifying specter but at least it was one that had lost its bite.

One wide-eyed farmer even dared come forward to poke the great beast with a shaking finger. “It’s really dead,” he gasped. “You really did it!”

Sera puffed out her chest. “Damn right we did. Big friggin’ heroes, we are.”

The people agreed and took it as all the more cause for reverie. With people came food and drink. Villagers worked alongside the Inquisition to build a massive bonfire and before long an impromptu feast was underway. At the center of it all was the high dragon. More people felt confident crowding in once they were assured the beast was truly dead. They poke it, prodded it, and some- including Bull- clambered up on top of it. If anything, the villagers seemed more nervous about the two Tevinters than the downed dragon in their midst. Better to try their luck with one dead monster, Lucien supposed, than two live ones.

Surprisingly it was the village’s Chantry sister who first approached him. Lucien wasn’t sure which part of that was of that was most surprising- that she had come to party or that she of all people would want to speak with him. He hadn’t exactly had the best luck with her kind since his true identity was revealed. Best to play nice until he figured out what she wanted.

He left the boulder he’d been using as a seat and inclined his head. “Sister Vaughan,” he said by way of greeting.

She mirrored his gesture. “Herald. I assume you will be leaving soon?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your hair shortly. Is there something I can do for you?”  
  
“Actually, I wanted to thank you for what you’ve already done. I’ll admit I was wary when I heard you were from Tevinter and it kept me from behaving as I should. I wanted to right that wrong before you left. Seeker Pentaghast said it was you who tracked down the bodies of the dead left behind in Old Crestwood. What those poor souls went through is beyond imagining but you made sure that they will find some peace. And so I thank you, Herald.”

Lucien gaped. “I- you’re welcome.”

Sister Vaughan bobbed her head again and rejoined the rest of the gathered villagers. When she’d gone, Dorian got carefully to his feet. He winced and gratefully accepted a hand when offered.

“How very eloquent,” he said with a smirk and soft grip on his ribs. “With such rousing words, it will only be a matter of time before all of southern Thedas is flocking behind you.”

“I thought you were supposed to be on my side,” Lucien replied.

“I am. Mine isn’t the heart you need to worry about winning over.” Dorian quickly placed a finger on Lucien’s smiling lips to preempt any response. “Now, now. I know that expression. Save all that mushy sentiment for the masses.”

Lucien looked toward the revelers. Bull was standing atop the dragon’s head while Sera sat upon his shoulders and shouted that she was queen of the dragons. The crowd cheered its assent. Qunari, elf, and man all united by a beast of legend. Witnessing such a thing, it was no wonder the Imperium had been held together for so long by the worship of dragon gods.

“Forget speeches,” Lucien said. “I think I can manage if I keep killing dragons.”

Dorian twisted his fingers around the edge of his mustache so that the curl of it matched his cheeky grin. “Only a dozen or so more, and I’m sure all of southern Thedas will happily stand under the Inquisition’s banner.”

Emboldened by the adults or perhaps with parents simply too inebriated to stop them, a gaggle of children were next to approach Lucien at the periphery of the bonfire’s light. From the look of them, they were too young to have lived through the Blight. They’d also just survived all the current calamities in Crestwood. That, Lucien supposed, was enough to make any child feel invincible.

At their lead was a girl of not much more that a half dozen years. Her fists were balled about her pigtails, as though they were anchors that could keep her from being swept away by the pair of wicked maleficarum. She marched up to Lucien and stuck out her chin.

“Are you really Magisters?” she asked.

Lucien could practically hear the sound of Dorian’s eyes rolling behind him. “Not Magisters,” he corrected gently. “But we are both mages from Tevinter.”

“Told you,” one of the boys said triumphantly.

“Gran said you used blood magic to make the mayor leave,” another girl said.

“No blood magic from us, I promise,” Lucien responded. “The mayor just did something very bad and he ran away before he could get in trouble for it.”

Every question answered was an invitation for more. What was it like fighting a real dragon? Are mages really in charge of everything in Tevinter? Were there kitten sacrifices? Had Lucien killed the Divine? Was he actually the Black Divine come to take over the Chantry? Lucien patiently answered every one as best he could while Dorian added less than helpful asides.

The children excitedly whispered amongst themselves. They elbowed each other to fight for the right to ask the next question. A Tevinter who was willing to answer their every inquiry was apparently very much like a slain dragon because just as their speech grew bolder, so to did their behavior. They danced in nervously to examine his staff and a few even grabbed his hand to get a good look at the mark. Their daring all expended by this final feat, the children rushed giggling back to the safety of their parents’ sides.

“You dealt with them well,” Dorian commented. “It seems you’ve finally found your peers.”

“My peers?” Lucien scoffed. “I wasn’t the one who taught them to curse in Tevene.”

“A cultural exchange.”

“Oh? Is that why you told them that, yes, every mage in Tevinter has a mustache?”

“Let them live with the delightful delusion that all our countrymen are so dashing. It might help your reputation. And by the time they’re old enough to know otherwise, maybe we’ll have actually started to reform Tevinter in our image.”

“Still dreaming of that bright, impossible future, Dorian?”

“Don’t mistake me for an optimist, amatus. I harbor no illusions. They’ll never be as charming as I but seeing you at the head of the Inquisition makes me think that maybe change is possible. If you can win over the uncivilized masses with nothing but hard-headed determination, what might we do back home?”

Dorian had taken a turn for the better since confronting his father. Looking at him now, he had some of the old spark back that Lucien hadn’t seen since Dorian’s best years studying under Alexius. He might assiduously deny it but for all his doom and gloom, there was a streak of optimism in Dorian that defied all his hard experience.

Once Lucien might have agreed with him. He fondly recalled late nights in the Circle, where they would talk about the future for hours until the candles had burned out and exhaustion finally dragged them off to bed. The possibilities had seemed boundless. Now that horizon seemed dimmer.

Halward had all the advantages in the world and yet he used that power to try to destroy his son rather than protect him. If he couldn’t stand against the evils of Tevinter, what chance did others have? And he was hardly the only example Lucien had seen of late. Alexius had used his knowledge to nearly destroy the world. The Venatori, rather than using all their influence and resources to pave a path to a better future, tried to restore a past that had long since crumbled under its own corruption. Then there was Corypheus. Dorian might insist he was a relic of a bygone age, but the fact that he was able to find so much support suggested otherwise.

Lucien wanted to believe as Dorian did, but as much as time in the south had made him miss his home, he’d also started to see it with fresh eyes. He hoped he could convince others that Tevinter wasn’t as bad as it seemed because he was finding it harder and harder to convince himself. Unfortunately, there was more than a single nation on the line. If he didn’t succeed and the Inquisition fell to shambles, all of Thedas might be destroyed.

So he looked to the people who found a way to laugh and dance the moment the storm around them parted. He looked to Dorian, who was a symbol of everything Tevinter could be and everything Lucien wanted. He would find hope not in vague ideals but in the people who made hope seem tangible. For them, he would stop the worst of his country from destroying the best, and the best from destroying themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> Given the Tevinter styling of the armor from the Jaws of Hakkon DLC, as soon as I put it on my mage Inquisitor, Lucien, I was bitten by the idea of a Tevinter!AU. That idea wouldn't let go and so here we are. This story will mostly follow the events of Inquisition, with some major differences given the identity of the Herald. 
> 
> For any interested,[ here](http://yamisnuffles.tumblr.com/post/130031330066) is Lucien in said armor.


End file.
